The Settling of Scores
by disc-on-tent
Summary: Sheppard’s team are taken captive by a brutal military leader with his own agenda.
1. Prologue

Title: The Settling of Scores

Spoilers: None.

Setting: Early in the second season.

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: All publicly identifiable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: The Prologue contains a death scene.

A/N 1: As always, wonderfully beta'd by Kiky - Thanks Kiky.

A/N 2: This is set at the beginning of season 2 because that is when I started writing it. Subsequent episodes have forced a few re-writes.

A/N 3: Originally it was just going to be the Prologue, but I was told in no uncertain terms that if I broke a toy I had to mend it before putting it back in the toy-box. So... appearances can be deceptive.

Prologue

Colonel John Sheppard groaned as he slowly emerged from unconsciousness. As his aching head started to clear, he retched in disgust. The sack that had been tied over his head stank of rotting vegetables; the stench overwhelming in the heat of the planet's twin suns. He worked his tongue inside his mouth, forcing the saliva to flow, and then swallowed hard until the nausea faded.

Now that he was no longer in immediate danger of losing his breakfast, he tried to make some sense of his surroundings. He was lying on his left side, his hands tightly bound behind him. Cautiously he tested the bonds. Correction, make that his hands tightly bound to his ankles.

Heat and muzziness in his head made it difficult to think. He remembered the ambush as a collection of isolated events; movement in the trees, shots being fired and then the explosion that had apparently knocked him out cold.

He lay still for a moment and tried to concentrate. Something was wrong; he was missing something important.

Squeezing his eyes closed in an effort to remember, all that filled his mind was the memory of walking with his team through thick forest, attempting to ignore Rodney's complaints about the heat.

His eyes snapped open inside the evil-smelling sack.

"_Rodney?"_ The name came out as a cracked whisper, _"Teyla? Ronon?"_ Sheppard strained to hear any response, or even the sound of someone breathing near by.

"Guys?" He called louder, setting off a pounding in his own head. The echoes of his shout told him that he was inside a small room, but no answering voice eased his growing concern.

He turned his attention to the thin cord that bound him wrist to ankle. A short struggle told him that whoever had tied it had known what they were doing. It would be a waste of time and effort to try and loosen the binding, his only chance was to find something with a sharp edge.

He felt around, but his captors had unaccountably left him nothing he could use, not even a rough stone on the hard-packed earth that made up the floor.

One thing that he could do was get upright.

Wincing as the thin cord cut into his wrist, he managed to force himself to his knees. Even that effort threatened to plunge him back into unconsciousness, and he swayed slightly until the dizziness passed.

The sound of approaching footsteps cut short any plans he might have had for removing the stinking canvas sack, and he turned his head like a blind man towards the noise. Moments later, somewhere to his right, a bolt was drawn back and a door opened. Sheppard tensed, readying himself to react to whatever opportunities presented themselves.

"Commander, he's awake!" A young man's voice called out from a few yards away, and, almost immediately, a second set of footsteps walked unhurriedly towards the Colonel.

oOo

Sheppard shook his head to clear the pain. The last kick to the side of his face had almost driven him back into unconsciousness. Already, he could feel his right eye starting to swell closed, and the blood blocking his broken nose was making it difficult to breathe.

Still hooded with the sack, it was impossible to anticipate where the next blow was coming from and he listened intently through the ringing in his ears for the faint sound of movement.

A fist drove hard into his stomach and Sheppard doubled over around the sudden agony.

He took a ragged breath through split lips and struggled back upright onto his knees. At least whoever was handing out the beating hadn't resorted to anything more than fists and feet; it hurt like hell, but it wasn't life-threatening, yet.

"Colonel Sheppard, my patience is limited." The older male voice was obviously used to command. It spoke from several feet away to Sheppard's right, somewhere near the door.

"You will tell me where you had arranged to meet with the rebels and exactly what weaponry you had agreed to supply them with." The voice was calm, almost pleasant to listen to; it was the voice of a man in complete control of the situation.

Sheppard lifted his chin, tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He spoke carefully, his words sounding tired from repetition. "I can only tell you again, I have never met any 'rebels', I have no intention of trading with any 'rebels', and I won't answer any more of your damn questions until I have seen that the rest of my team are safe."

He braced himself against the expected blow, but, instead, the older voice let out a heavy, theatrical sigh.

"Your concern for your people is touching, Colonel Sheppard." The voice sounded almost impressed. "Very well, if it will speed this process along, I will have them brought here and you can see for yourself that they are unharmed."

The door to John's right opened and footsteps left the room. Seconds later, the vile-smelling sack was roughly pulled away and Sheppard blinked in the sudden light.

He was in a wooden hut roughly fifteen feet by twenty. Sunlight streamed in through the single window, an unglazed opening with a torn scrap of bug-netting tacked across it. More light filtered in through gaps in the walls, one bright shaft falling onto a dark-uniformed man with greying hair who sat on a folding canvas chair and inspected Sheppard's own 9mm handgun, an amused smile on his lips.

Sheppard's eyes darted around the room, taking in the details of his prison, including the young, fair-haired soldier who stood at his side, the guard's reddened knuckles telling John exactly who had carried out his beating.

A sudden sound to his right instantly fixed Sheppard's attention on the door.

The towering figure of Ronon was the first to enter the hut, his hands bound behind him and a sack tied over his head. The big Runner was being held at gunpoint by a uniformed soldier, the gun looking clumsy, but fully functional, in the soldier's hand. Behind Ronon, the slight form of Teyla seemed tiny in comparison. Again, hands tied and a sack over her head, she was held by an armed guard, as was Rodney who brought up the rear, his clothes crumpled and covered in dirt.

At a nod from the grey-haired man, the armed soldiers forced all three hooded prisoners onto their knees in front of Sheppard.

"Rodney? Teyla, Ronon? Are you guys okay?" Ronon and Teyla turned their heads towards him at the sound of their names, but McKay remained slouched on his knees, his head down.

"Sheppard?", Ronon's bass voice rumbled in reply, "I'm fine, just give me the word."

"Take it easy, Ronon." The Colonel almost smiled at the big man's resilience, but now was not the time for heroics.

"Teyla?"

"I, too, am unhurt, Colonel. I am sure that this misunderstanding can be resolved without the need for violence."

Sheppard turned a swollen eye towards the seated Commander. He was thankful that the others hadn't suffered the same treatment, and he would do whatever was necessary to keep it that way.

He looked back at his team. McKay was still slumped dejectedly on his knees next to Teyla, and Sheppard called out to him. "Rodney?"

The physicist didn't respond to his name.

"Rodney?" Sheppard called louder, and the armed guard at McKay's back roughly shook the hooded man by his shoulder.

"Mmmh?" McKay's voice was muffled by more than just the sack and Sheppard realised with a flash of anger that the scientist had been gagged. In other circumstances it might have been amusing to learn that Rodney's mouth had apparently once again got him into trouble, but this situation was far from amusing.

"As you can see, your people are currently unharmed, Colonel Sheppard." The grey-haired Commander stood and made his way slowly along the line of kneeling prisoners. "And now you will tell me what I want to know. Where had you arranged to meet with the rebels, and exactly what weaponry had you agreed to supply them with?"

"I've already told you," Sheppard bit back an angry response, "I have never met any 'rebels', and I have no intention of trading with any 'rebels'."

The dark-uniformed man came to a halt behind McKay. "And I have already told you, Colonel Sheppard, my patience is limited."

Without further warning, the man lifted Sheppard's 9mm and calmly fired it into the back of Rodney's head. Cherry-red blood, stark white bone and grey brains blossomed out across the heated air. McKay's body toppled slowly forward and lay, motionless, on the hard-packed dirt.

Sheppard stared in shock at the fallen body, his mind suddenly numb.

"A powerful weapon, Colonel Sheppard." The Commander's words made no impression on Sheppard's stunned brain. "Now, if you were to trade these with my forces instead of the rebels, I might be inclined to let the rest of you live."

TBC


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"John, what has happened?" Sheppard was only dimly aware of Teyla's urgent question. "John?" The Colonel's eyes remained locked on McKay's unmoving body, his shocked brain refusing to function.

"Sheppard?" Ronon's muscles had bunched at the sound of the shot, ready for action, waiting for the order to attack.

Still, Sheppard knelt in silence.

"Well, Colonel, do we have a trade?" It was the Commander's impassive query that finally cut through John's paralysis. He turned in uncontrolled fury to face the standing man, his hands straining at his bindings until the thin cord cut into his wrists, drawing a line of blood which dripped, unnoticed, onto the dry earth.

Their captor smiled and took a step towards him, calmly raising the 9mm once again, until John found himself gazing down the still-smoking barrel of the gun. He tensed, all physical pain forgotten, as he fought against his bonds, powerless to launch himself at Rodney's murderer.

Time slowed. Even through his burning anger, John could see the Commander's finger tightening on the trigger, but, before he could do more, a young soldier burst in through the door and hurriedly snapped a salute.

"Sir, rebel forces have made our position. They're bringing up heavy artillery onto the ridge." The young man looked nervously at his commanding officer, who lowered the gun with a smile and coolly turned away from Sheppard's rage to acknowledge the soldier's salute.

"Give the order to move out." The younger man nodded and hastily left the room, shouting orders as soon as he was clear of the door.

Directing a composed look at the fair-haired soldier at Sheppard's side, the Commander spoke again. "The prisoners are your responsibility, Gavell. Take good care of them." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked from the room with an easy stride.

oOo

Sheppard didn't notice the sharp blade that cut his hands free from his feet, and then sliced through the thin cord that bound his ankles together. He allowed himself to be manhandled to his feet without a fight. It wasn't until he had been marched almost to the door that he started to resist.

Instantly, he felt the muzzle of a pistol pressing hard into his bruised ribs.

"Please be sensible, Colonel Sheppard." Gavell's voice hissed in his ear. "Commander Bartos wants to keep you alive for the moment, but this can change." His light blue eyes flicked across to the crumpled body lying on the dirt floor, already attracting flies in the sweltering heat.

Following the soldier's gaze, Sheppard felt his throat tighten. The very suddenness of the killing made it almost impossible to accept. Rodney's death had been a senseless act of brutality. He'd died bound, gagged and blindfolded, kneeling in the dirt of an alien planet, and John hadn't moved a muscle to prevent it.

The sound of Ronon struggling against his captor drew Sheppard's eyes back from the corpse. He turned his head towards his team-mate, just as the Satedan's effort ended in a muffled grunt of pain.

No matter what happened now, Rodney's murderer was going to pay; John had no problem with promising himself that, but first they had to escape. They needed to stay alive, and, however much he wanted to, that meant that right now, they couldn't fight back.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

The pressure of Gavell's pistol eased as the soldier stepped away from him with a smile.

"Good decision, Colonel Sheppard." Gavell spared a glance at Teyla and Ronon. "This will be easier if they can see where they're walking." He lifted his chin to the guards, who, none too gently, cut loose the sacks and pulled them from the prisoners' heads.

Both fighters were instantly alert, needing no time to adjust to the sudden bright light. Their eyes flicked around the hut and Sheppard could see them stiffen almost simultaneously as they caught sight of McKay's body.

"Easy." Sheppard spoke softly before either could react. "There's nothing we can do for him now."

Teyla caught his slight emphasis on the last word, a look of understanding crossing her shocked face. She nodded almost imperceptibly in agreement.

Ronon missed the subtle promise of justice, his shoulders tensing as he readied himself to attack the armed men that held them.

"Ronon!" Sheppard couldn't let the big man get himself killed. He waited until the Satedan turned an angry face towards him. "Leave it." He held the Runner's eye a second longer, then quietly repeated, "Leave it."

Finally, Ronon looked away with a snort of anger and frustration.

Gavell smirked and gestured towards the door with his gun. "Get moving."

The three prisoners were taken from the hut and out into the blazing sunlight. The hut was one of several scattered throughout a large clearing in the forest. In between them, about twenty tents were being hurriedly dismantled by a handful of dark-uniformed men. Shouts filled the air as Gavell herded Sheppard's team through the camp towards a rough dirt track leading off into the trees.

Just before they hit the tree-line, the blond soldier brought the small party to a halt. Turning to the other guards, he snapped out his instructions, "Grab our gear and catch up with me. I can handle these three." He looked Sheppard arrogantly in the eye and hefted his pistol. "They won't give me any trouble."

John allowed his shoulders to slump as though in defeat. His first priority now was escape. If he could make an opening, he knew that, even bound, his team could take a single armed man. If they let the soldier get overconfident, then there was a possibility that he would drop his guard just enough.

Gavell gestured for the prisoners to start along the dirt track, away from the encampment. Trusting that his team-mates would react to any opportunity, Sheppard led the way without argument, focussing his mind solely on creating the chance they needed.

Once in the forest, the heat grew oppressive. The sounds of the camp receded into the background as dense vegetation pressed in around them, dark, damp and warm. The humidity rose until John found his shirt sticking to his skin, his sweat stinging sharply in the cuts that covered his face and body.

The dirt track quickly narrowed into a trail, mossy roots and damp earth making the footing treacherous. Sheppard's fall however, was intentional.

Twisting at the last moment to take the fall on his shoulder, he went down hard, and stayed down.

Teyla was at his side in an instant. As her body shielded him from Gavell, he gave her a quick nod then closed his eyes.

"Please, I think that he is hurt." Teyla's voice was full of concern as she called over her shoulder to their captor.

"Okay, back away from him. Over there." Sheppard strained to hear more but the spongy moss deadened the sound of Gavell's approach. Nevertheless, John was expecting the kick and had steeled himself to remain motionless, not even allowing a grunt of pain to escape his lips.

Eyes still closed, he sensed the soldier kneeling at his side, then felt the soft pressure of fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse.

Launching himself into action, John used what little leverage he had and head-butted the kneeling Gavell firmly in the chest, rocking the soldier back on his heels and sending his heavy pistol flying.

Sheppard made a split-second decision; with his hands bound behind him, grabbing for the gun was out of the question and he rolled to his feet, making for the relative safety of the dense forest.

A quick glance behind him told the Colonel that Ronon and Teyla had seized the opportunity to do the same, as Gavell angrily reached for his fallen pistol. Focusing his concentration back on his own escape, Sheppard put his head down and ran.

Moments later, the sound of a gunshot coincided with a sapling exploding into splinters, only a foot away to his right.

The incentive was more than enough and he zigzagged through the forest like a startled deer.

oOo

Sheppard paused for breath, his bruised ribs complaining with each deep lungful of humid air. Once the pounding in his head had subsided enough for him to think clearly, he stood quietly and listened. Small flying insects buzzed all around him but, surprisingly, he could hear no sounds of pursuit, just Gavell's faint voice shouting from the path. At this distance, the words were barely audible, but John felt it wise to assume that the soldier was calling for backup. Forcing his aching body back into action he continued through the undergrowth albeit at a more reasonable speed; now would not be a good time to slip and turn an ankle.

Before long even Gavell's shouts had died away leaving only the natural sounds of the forest.

Judging it finally safe, Sheppard stopped and allowed himself to sink wearily to the mossy ground, his back against a tree. His eyes closed as the adrenaline that had kept him going for so long started to take its toll. As his head slowly drooped, the image of Rodney, lying dead on the rough dirt floor, seized him like a knife twisting in his brain. His eyes snapped open and he drove the memory back. He couldn't afford to lose it now. He focussed on the next problem; finding Ronon and Teyla, and that was not going to be easy.

His own trail through the forest was obvious, and it wouldn't take an expert tracker to find him. In order to move more carefully though, he was going to have to untie his hands. Even the simple act of walking with his hands bound behind him was proving difficult in these conditions. Branches, even twigs that he wouldn't normally notice, became barriers that could only be barged through, head down. Twice already he had lost his footing and fallen heavily to his knees, unable to catch his balance.

He spotted a thin sapling and once again forced himself to his feet. Putting his back to the trunk, he rubbed his bindings against the rough bark. Scraping away more skin than cord he could feel blood begin to seep again from the barely closed cuts on his wrist, when suddenly a deep voice spoke behind him.

"Do you want any help?" Sheppard span in alarm, his heart racing.

Ronon stood beside a tall tree and held up a short-bladed knife. He had arrived silently, appearing like a ghost within a couple of yards of Sheppard. The Colonel let out a deep breath of relief and took a step forward, turning to allow the Runner to cut the thin cord that secured his hands.

"Where did you get the knife?" Sheppard frowned over his shoulder as the sharp blade sliced through his bonds.

"They missed one." John raised his eyebrows in surprise at Ronon's reply; the guards had been thoroughly professional in other ways. "Couldn't reach it myself with my hands tied." Ronon looked over towards the dense undergrowth.

Rubbing his raw wrists, John turned in the direction that Ronon had indicated to see Teyla, blending into the forest like a shadow. She nodded back to him, and then continued to scan the area.

"Now we go back, right?" Ronon pointed with his knife back along John's trail.

Sheppard found it difficult not to just agree and lead the way. Justice, retribution, revenge, whatever you liked to call it, his need for it gnawed like a hunger. But, armed with a single knife, going back would achieve nothing but re-capture or death for them all.

"No. We make our way to the gate for backup." Ronon looked as though he was about to argue, but Teyla's soft voice spoke from the shadows.

"I agree, Colonel. We are not equipped to attack such a large force."

Sheppard looked back to Ronon who nodded once then glanced up at the sky. One sun blazed down almost directly overhead. The other, somewhere to their left, sent strange shafts of light angling in through the trees. The Runner turned to face the second sun. "The gate's this way." He started off through the undergrowth at an easy pace, moving through the dense forest but leaving no more trace than a jungle cat.

As Sheppard made to follow, he felt a gentle hand on his arm. Teyla came up to walk beside him. "What happened, John?"

Sheppard knew that she wasn't asking about his own injuries, even though his right eye had now closed completely and blood still caked his lower lip. Gavell's beating had been thorough, but the cuts would heal in time.

He didn't turn to face her as he spoke, his voice flat. "That bastard Bartos asked me questions, but I didn't have the answers he wanted. He thought I was holding out on him and he murdered Rodney to prove a point." He paused, unable to continue for a moment. "He shot Rodney through the head with my own gun, like he was putting down a dog."

He finally glanced down. Teyla's eyes were dark with sadness and she opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again in silence. Sheppard understood; there really was nothing that could be said.

Up ahead of them, Ronon led the way, and, for the next few minutes, John concentrated on the task of simply putting one foot in front of the other, thankful for the big man and his unerring sense of direction.

oOo

The gate was in a large clearing less than a mile from Bartos' encampment. Several well-used paths led to the open area, but Ronon brought them through the thick undergrowth to within a few yards of the DHD, before stopping in the shadows.

Sheppard frowned as he scanned the empty clearing.

Something felt wrong.

In a war zone, someone should have been guarding the gate.

He checked the area again, but the only movement was the brilliant flash of insect wings caught in the slanting shafts of sunlight.

"Okay, we've got no IDC or radio, so we'll have to make a detour." John kept his voice low as he spoke. "Lorne has a team out on M2K-842; we can meet up with him there. Teyla?" She looked up at his questioning tone, "You know those people, right?"

"Yes, John, I have traded with them many times, their village is close to the Stargate and they will lead us to Major Lorne if we ask."

Sheppard closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Leaving the planet felt like a betrayal, but they would be back. Squaring his shoulders, John stepped up to the DHD and dialled out.

TBC


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Rodney McKay drew the rough, brown blanket closer around himself and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wasn't cold; in fact the heat from the planet's twin suns was stifling, but he felt deeply uncomfortable in just his boxers and socks. His uniform and boots had been taken from him within minutes of his capture; indignant protests earning him a cuff to the face that he felt sure had loosened a tooth.

He sat in utter dejection on the dirt floor of the small wooden hut, and listened to shouting voices outside. There had been the sound of a single gunshot a few minutes earlier, and, although Rodney wasn't exactly an expert on gunshots, it had sounded to him very much like a 9mm. His heart had leapt with the sudden hope that the rest of his team had somehow managed to escape and were coming to free him, but, as the minutes passed with no further sign of rescue, he sank back down into total misery.

Eventually, the shouting stopped and Rodney sat in silence, his active mind filling his imagination with ever more bleak scenarios.

A creak of hinges made him look up with a start as the door opened and a tall, grey-haired man stepped into the hut.

"Please, don't get up, Dr McKay." There was something about the way he said it that instantly stopped Rodney in the act of scrambling to his feet. The man was smiling pleasantly, but his eyes held no humour.

Rodney sat back down and pulled the blanket even closer around his shoulders. Despite the heat, he felt a sudden chill run through him.

"We haven't been introduced," The older man hunkered down until he was on a level with McKay and offered his hand in greeting. "My name is Bartos, Commander Marek Bartos."

Rodney automatically held out his own hand. The Commander's handshake was firm and businesslike, but he held McKay's hand just a moment longer than Rodney was comfortable with before allowing him to let go.

Pulling his hand back beneath the blanket, McKay warily considered the man crouched in front of him. Bartos looked to be in his late fifties, but with the kind of face that aged slowly and a litheness to his muscles that spoke of effortless strength. Rodney's quick eyes flickered across the other man's smooth-shaven face until they came to rest on the Commander's own.

With a jolt, McKay realised that the man was silently observing him in return, an impassive expression on his face as though Rodney was nothing more than a bug on a microscope slide, and the scientist's feeling of discomfort deepened.

"Where are my team?" The question came out high-pitched and way too fast, the words tumbling over each other in their haste. Rodney cursed his nervousness, but managed to hold the Commander's gaze until he replied.

"By now your people will have left through the Stargate."

"Well, that's obviously not true, they wouldn't just leave me." He shot the man an uneasy look and tried to force his voice to sound less terrified, but even to his own ears he knew it had sounded like a whine.

"I doubt that even your Colonel Sheppard would bring his team into a war zone, simply to retrieve a corpse."

Rodney found himself backing away from the genially smiling man, his heart beating wildly.

"Oh, don't look so worried, Dr McKay." Bartos reached forward and gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. "I haven't gone to all this trouble merely to kill you."

Now Rodney could feel his shoulder blades digging into the wood of the wall behind him. He tried to shuffle even further backwards, but there was nowhere for him to go.

The creaking of the door dragged his eyes away from Bartos. A fair-haired young soldier stepped smartly into the hut and saluted his Commander.

"Ah, Gavell, you're back." Bartos straightened smoothly to his feet. "There were no problems with the plan." It was a comment rather than a question but the soldier's response was immediate.

"No, Sir, I didn't even have to present them with the opportunity to escape; Colonel Sheppard did that for himself." He rubbed his chest ruefully as he spoke.

"I expected nothing less from the Colonel." Bartos' broad smile appeared to be one of genuine amusement. "And where are they now?"

"Colonel Sheppard and his team have left through the Stargate."

At the blond man's reply, Rodney felt his heart sink. They had gone without him?

"You have the address." Again, the Commander's words weren't a question.

Gavell took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Bartos who glanced at it briefly.

"It seems that they have gone to Tiritol." He looked down at McKay and raised his eyebrows as if expecting a response, but Rodney frowned back, the name meant nothing to him. "Ah, you know it as M2K-842, it's where your Major Lorne and his team are investigating a report that a Wraith Dart has crashed in the mountains."

Bartos absently tapped a finger on the paper in thought. "It will take Colonel Sheppard about an hour to contact the Major and then I fully expect him to return here, accompanied by Major Lorne's team. When he finds nothing here, he will return to Atlantis."

McKay felt his heart jump again at the casual mention of Atlantis. Despite the situation, he was beginning to wonder exactly how Bartos had gathered his information, and what the hell they wanted with him. His eyes flicked rapidly as he considered a number of possibilities, before focussing on the hand that Bartos was holding out to him.

"Come, Dr McKay, we should be leaving."

Rodney ignored the proffered hand. "No," he said, lifting his chin stubbornly, "I'm not going anywhere. You can either kill me now or let me wait here for my team." He could hear his own breath, rapid in his nostrils, as he clenched his jaw in determination.

The outstretched hand remained steady. "You are coming with us, Dr McKay." Bartos' voice now held an edge of steel, and Rodney huddled tighter in his blanket. "If it will help you to co-operate, you should know that very soon this entire camp, and everything in it, will be destroyed. As I said earlier, Colonel Sheppard will find nothing here when he returns."

The Commander paused, but Rodney still refused to move, his heart now thumping in his chest.

Bartos lowered his hand. Turning around to leave the hut, his voice hardened. "Gavell, bring him. Use whatever force you deem necessary. Just remember, I need him alive."

McKay's eyes widened as the younger soldier stepped towards him with a grin.

Rodney had no doubt now that he was in the hands of a psychopath and he felt his determination falter.

Without a backward glance, Bartos left the hut, the door slowly swinging closed behind him.

oOo

Bartos watched as Gavell escorted McKay across the camp. The scientist was limping slightly, but otherwise looked essentially unharmed. That was good; Gavell could be savage at times, but he had understood that McKay was to be intimidated rather than permanently damaged.

So far, the plan had succeeded without a single hitch. Not that he had anticipated any problems, but it was always pleasant to be proven right. Sheppard had behaved exactly as expected, from his stoic self-discipline during Gavell's enthusiastic beating, to his resourceful escape back to the gate.

The Commander smiled regretfully to himself. It was unfortunate that his information made it clear that Sheppard was not a suitable candidate for recruitment. He would have been an invaluable asset to the Organisation.

However, Commander Bartos was not a man to dwell on what might have been. They had McKay, and that was, after all, the sole object of the exercise.

He made his way to the small wooden hut in the centre of the camp. There was one last job that needed doing before he followed Gavell to the gate, and although he fully trusted his men to obey orders, he wanted to be sure of this one himself.

He pulled a device from his pocket, and thumbed it to life. A mechanism whirred as the object unfolded, then clicked into its final position. He liked the zat'ni'katel, it was a very versatile weapon. A single shot during the ambush had rendered Colonel Sheppard unconscious for a short while, a second shot would have killed him, but it was the effects of a third shot which made the Goa'uld weapon so useful.

Opening the door to the hut, he stepped inside. A cloud of flies rose from the corpse of the unfortunate rebel which had already started to stink in the heat, proving once again that there was no dignity in death. The smell of blood, brains and other, even less fragrant, bodily fluids filled the hut, but Bartos hardly noticed it as he rolled the body over with his foot.

He had considered removing McKay's uniform from the corpse, you never knew when such a thing would come in useful in his profession, but stripping off the blood-sodden clothing was not going to be worth the effort. He could always acquire an Atlantean uniform if necessary, and the chance of Sheppard finding even a scrap of the cloth soaked in blood that was not McKay's, was a risk that he didn't need to take.

He took a step back from the body and raised the zat'ni'katel, impassively firing three times into the carcass. On the third shot, the body disintegrated, leaving no residue other than a dark stain on the hard-packed earth.

As he left the hut, Bartos checked the small pile of simple incendiary explosives stacked against the outside wall. They would take care of any remaining traces of DNA; even Dr Beckett would not be able to establish the identity of the dead man from what was left.

He walked across the camp towards the path to the Stargate, signalling to his men on the ridge to begin the bombardment.

Long before he reached the gate, a column of fire rose behind him and he smiled, happy at the successful conclusion of the first part of his plan.

oOo

The forest was stifling; insects buzzed in the warm, muggy air and somewhere off in the distance a tree creaked under its burden of damp moss. The only human sounds were those made by Rodney and Gavell as they hiked along a narrow, uneven path through the vegetation. Still limping, McKay trudged in front of his captor. His left knee was stiffening badly now, a deep purple bruise beginning to rise just above his kneecap where the young soldier had landed a vicious kick.

Rodney winced as his knee jarred on the rough ground, then cut short a yelp of pain as a snaking bramble raked across his back leaving a thin trail of blood. His blanket was long gone, snagged on a tree somewhere back along the path, and the overhanging branches were leaving shallow, stinging scratches across his bare arms and shoulders.

At first he'd complained, loudly, but that had merely earned him a savage punch to the ribs from his guard, and the threat of being gagged if he didn't stop whining. Now he was just trying to endure in silence. It wasn't easy.

At least he'd been given boots to wear. Okay, they weren't his own comfortable, well broken-in boots, just thick-soled combat boots a size too small. But even so, they were infinitely better than stumbling along the slippery trail in his socks.

A thunderous explosion from the direction of the camp made him flinch in alarm.

"_What the hell was...?_" He bit back his question as he looked round in panic and saw his captor's glare.

The blond soldier narrowed his eyes. "Keep going."

Turning back to the path, Rodney continued to walk in silence. As the minutes passed, the heat and humidity grew even more oppressive and Rodney found himself lurching unsteadily along the trail, barely able to force his painful leg to keep moving. He wiped sweat from his face, and glanced over his shoulder at the fair-haired man behind him. It was all he could do not to simply fall to the floor by the side of the trail and let the young soldier do his worst, but the thought of what that might be was enough to keep him upright and moving. He dragged himself along in wretched misery, until the path suddenly ended in a clearing with a Stargate at the far end.

The gate was already active when they arrived, but McKay was called to a halt a few yards from the event horizon and he gratefully slumped to the ground, easing the laces on his ill-fitting boots. He hadn't walked far, but the last half mile had been pure torture.

As he pulled a boot from an aching foot, he sighed to himself in relief. Massaging some life back into his throbbing toes, he looked around the clearing. It was large; big enough for a jumper to land without trouble, with well trampled earth around the gate. The clearing and the gate were obviously much used, but at the moment he and Gavell were the only people in sight.

Rodney paused in the act of slipping off his other boot and glanced over at his captor. The blond soldier was standing a few yards away, leaning on the DHD and looking back down the trail they had just left. Slowly McKay replaced both boots and re-tightened his laces. He was close to the edge of the clearing; only a few feet of open ground lay between himself and the forest. With a quick lunge, he could be under the trees and away. He tensed the muscles in his legs, wincing as his knee protested. He could feel his heart beginning to race in trepidation, but he knew that he might not get a better opportunity to escape than this.

Steeling himself for action he checked his surroundings one last time, then suddenly froze as a dark shape appeared along the path. A second later, he recognised the tall figure of Bartos and his heart fell. He'd missed his chance.

The Commander walked unhurriedly into the clearing, Rodney's blanket folded neatly over his left shoulder. He approached the gate, and handed the blanket to Gavell.

"Careless, Gavell." The words were softly spoken, but the reprimand clear.

The younger soldier reddened. "I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again." He shot McKay a venomous glare, before roughly dragging the scientist to his feet and escorting him forcibly through the gate.

oOo

The first planet they reached was even hotter than the one they had just left. Sand stretched away from the gate in all directions as far as Rodney could see, and a strong, gusty wind whipped it up into his face, making him cough and blink.

Through streaming eyes he could make out at least a dozen uniformed men standing around the gate's DHD. At a signal from their Commander, one of the soldiers re-dialled the gate and once again Gavell pushed Rodney through the event horizon.

oOo

It was night on the next planet, and cold. There was a feeling of frost in the air and the only light was a pale blue shimmer from the gate which sent long, dark shadows dancing ahead of them into the blackness. The sudden drop in temperature brought goose bumps out on Rodney's bare shoulders and he looked longingly at the blanket in Gavell's hand.

"Dr McKay." Rodney turned at the sound of Bartos' quiet voice. The grey-haired man was indicating a patch of even darker shadows off to the right of the gate. Wiping his still watering eyes Rodney squinted into the darkness. Finally, his brain registered the object that stood less than fifty feet in front of him.

The ship was about the size of a Puddlejumper, but with none of the boxy design. It was sleek, almost organic looking, its lines drawing the eye along its length and giving it the illusion of speed, even as it stood motionless in the shadows.

Rodney stared at it in amazement. It was beautiful; it was also impossible.

"That's an Asgard ship." McKay's voice was flat with disbelief.

Bartos laid a hand on his shoulder and Rodney shivered with more than just the cold. "I know what the_ Hefnd_ is, Dr McKay. The question is, can you repair her?"

TBC


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

One sun still blazed in the sky, the second streaked the horizon with broad bands of gold and crimson, but any beauty in the sunset was lost on Sheppard who stood in the centre of the encampment, and soberly took stock of the devastation that surrounded him. His heavy heart fell even further as he realised that the smoking crater in front of him was all that was left of the small wooden hut in which Rodney had died.

The entire camp had been destroyed, but a handful of huts seemed to have been specifically targeted; utterly razed, probably by incendiary weapons fired from the overlooking ridge.

He knelt at the edge of the crater and gazed into the hazy smoke. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn't find it.

"Teyla, Ronon, any luck?" Straightening painfully to his feet, Sheppard radioed his team-mates. The two fighters were searching the perimeter of the camp for any indication of which direction Bartos and his soldiers had gone.

'_There are many trails leading from the camp, Colonel.' _Sheppard could hear the frustration in Teyla's voice, _'And most show signs of recent use.'_

Damn. Bartos and his men had scattered rather than pulling out along a single trail. And with Ronon finding signs of a dozen or so leaving through the gate, it was going to be a long job running them all to ground.

Sheppard looked over to Lorne. The Major was frowning down at his life-signs detector but he appeared to sense Sheppard's gaze and glanced up with a shake of his head.

"It's no good, Sir, there's just too much wildlife out in the forest. I can't tell what's animal and what's human." Lorne sounded almost as frustrated as Teyla, and Sheppard remembered the stunned look of shock with which the Major had met the news of Rodney's murder. The physicist had got under the skin of more than just Sheppard and his team.

John nodded to Lorne in acknowledgement. They needed more manpower. It was time for them to get back to Atlantis. He didn't want to leave, but there was nothing more that they could do here now. Calling Ronon and Teyla back to camp, Sheppard prepared to return to the gate, already planning his next move. He would mobilise the full resources of Atlantis if necessary in order to bring Bartos to justice.

He silently promised Rodney that much.

oOo

As he emerged from beneath the pilot's console, Rodney absently wiped his face on the sleeve of the dark uniform that he had finally been provided with, although the shapeless fatigues were obviously intended for someone a foot taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than he was. They fitted him where they touched, and he'd had to turn back the ends of the sleeves so many times that they'd started to squeeze awkwardly at the wrists.

A sudden blast of icy air blew through the cockpit and Rodney shivered inside the rough fabric. The material was harsh and itchy against his grazed shoulders, but in the wintry cold he was thankful for anything. At least the boots he'd now been given were a better fit. He'd demanded his own clothes back out of principle, but the thickset soldier who had handed out the uniform had ignored his demands, and the strange smirk on Gavell's face had left McKay unwilling to press the matter further.

In the very early hours of the morning, Bartos and half of his men had departed through the gate, leaving Gavell in command. The blond soldier had wasted no time in putting Rodney to work evaluating the repairs needed to the _Hefnd_; threatening in alarming detail what would happen if McKay hadn't completed his task before the Commander's return. Threats that Rodney had no doubt the young thug would be more than happy to carry out.

It was nearly sunrise now, and for the past few hours Rodney had been studying the ship. The _Hefnd_ was almost exactly the same size as a Puddlejumper, and for the same reason; it had been built to travel through Stargates using its primary drive, a pair of sub-light engines. It hadn't taken Rodney long to work out that it could access both Milky Way and Pegasus gate systems using an ingeniously modified Asgard DHD which had given him a flash of hope before he realised that it had been deliberately disabled.

Unlike a Puddlejumper the _Hefnd_ also had a hyperdrive; a compact engine, most likely a prototype from the way it appeared to have been retrofitted into the rear compartment, taking up most of the available space. The rest of the ship was equally compact; the cramped cockpit, not much bigger than a large closet, allowing room for a crew of just one. All controls were routed through a single pilot's station, a low lectern-shaped console moulded from something that wasn't quite plastic and which felt slightly warm to the touch, despite the bitter cold of the planet.

Rodney glanced around the small cockpit, his rapidly flicking eyes searching for anything that he might have missed in his appraisal so far.

He'd explored the systems, starting with the mainframe and ending up by tracing the hyperdrive's power circuits through the pilot's station. The Asgard-sized console forced him to stoop, but Rodney didn't notice. When his mind was working at full speed like this, nothing else mattered. Calculations and equations flashed across his brain like white-hot fire. It was as though there was no room left for uncertainty, discomfort or even fear, just complete immersion in the task of solving the problem.

He'd once overheard Sheppard trying to explain to Elizabeth how he felt when he was flying, and it had sounded very similar. If it was, then what Rodney experienced when he turned and saw the unexpected figure of Bartos watching him from the doorway was probably equivalent to pile-driving a Blackhawk helicopter into the side of a mountain at 150 knots.

"Well, Dr McKay, can you repair her?" Bartos' tone was interested rather than anxious.

Rodney's ego screamed at him to say yes, but for once, his mind overruled it.

"No. If it was just the sub-light engines then I might be able to fix them, but the hyperdrive is completely…"

"Dr McKay." Bartos interrupted Rodney's answer with a weary shake of his head. "You and I are intelligent men, and we have both played this game many times before. So, shall we just omit the threats and move straight on to the part where you concede that you can repair my ship?" He looked Rodney in the eye and McKay found himself nodding in agreement.

"Good." The Commander turned to leave the small cockpit, then paused and looked back. "Just one more thing, Doctor. Since you have already considered sabotaging the engines, you should be aware that you will be on board the ship each time we test them."

McKay watched as the older man made his way from the cockpit and out, through the rear of the Asgard vessel into the morning twilight beyond.

Why the hell had he just agreed that he could fix the ship?

With time, equipment and, Rodney had to admit, a certain amount of luck he could fix the sub-light engines, but the hyperdrive was beyond repair. Not even a team of Asgard engineers could get it working again. It wouldn't be too difficult to get it back online, but the moment he tried to establish a wormhole the drive would overload, and he didn't want to be on the ship when that happened. Even being on the same continent might be a bad idea.

The reality of his situation suddenly hit him. He was being held captive on an unknown planet by a certifiable lunatic with his own private army. And when Bartos realised that he couldn't fix the Asgard ship, Rodney had no doubts that his life expectancy would be measured in seconds.

Tiredness and despair finally caught up with him, sapping the energy that had kept him going through the night. He leaned back against the bulkhead and sank slowly to the chill, metal deck, his chin dropping onto his chest.

He was totally alone with no hope of rescue. Even if it was possible for him to discover the address of the planet he was on, he had no way of signalling the information back to Atlantis.

Rodney looked up sharply at the pilot's station.

It would take him some time, but maybe there was a way after all.

oOo

Elizabeth Weir stood at the foot of the gateroom steps and watched in silence as Sheppard led his people back through the Stargate to Atlantis.

She had been in her office, working her way through a pile of routine purchasing requests when she'd received his radioed report, listening first with shock, then with horror and finally with a numb disbelief. It wasn't until the shimmering event horizon collapsed behind the seven returning expedition members that she started to feel the beginnings of grief.

Sheppard took a step towards her, but his first words were to the Marine sergeant standing at her side. "I want every team geared up ready to go offworld in five minutes." John's voice slurred through split lips and a deep purple bruise covered the right-hand side of his face from jaw to hairline. However, none of that could mask the determination in his eyes.

"The only place you're going, Colonel, is the infirmary." Dr Beckett had arrived with a team even before Elizabeth had reached the gateroom. She wasn't sure who had called him, she certainly couldn't remember doing it herself, but the gurney they had brought with them was piled high with medical apparatus. As the medics began to unload the equipment, Elizabeth caught sight of a neatly folded black body-bag and felt her stomach lurch. Whatever other information Carson had been given, he knew about Rodney.

And the rumours must have been flying. Now that she looked, Elizabeth realised that there were more personnel in the gateroom than usual, both military and civilian, although the room had been unnaturally quiet since Sheppard and his team dialled in.

Sheppard turned to Major Lorne, ignoring the doctor as if he wasn't there. "Major, I want you to take three teams and search the area surrounding the gate. I'll take a jumper up to the ridge. That's where the..."

"Colonel," Carson's normally patient voice sounded tired and drained. "Your right eye is swollen shut, your nose is broken and who knows what other injuries you might be trying to hide from me. Now, even if I have to sedate you right here, you are going to the infirmary."

Finally, Sheppard turned to face Dr Beckett, his left eye blazing. "No. I am going back to the planet." While John was speaking, Ronon took a step forward to stand solidly behind his team leader, the Runner's hand dropping unconsciously to the empty holster at his side as he glowered at Beckett.

Even through her own distress Elizabeth could see that emotions were running far too high for John to back down now without her intervention. Before either Sheppard or Beckett could make another move, she spoke. "Colonel Sheppard, if you can tell me that this is a rescue mission then I will give you my full support." Beside her, Dr Beckett began to protest, but she held up a hand to forestall him. "If not, then you will go with Carson to the infirmary." Trying to keep the desperation from her voice she continued, "John, is there the slightest possibility that Rodney is still alive?"

The gateroom fell completely silent, all activity ceasing as every face turned towards Sheppard.

He stood for a moment, then he seemed to falter. Only Ronon's razor-sharp reactions saved him from collapsing to the ground as the big Satedan caught him around the waist.

Instantly, Beckett was at his side, guiding him gently towards the, now empty, gurney. Sheppard allowed himself to be settled onto his back without protest but slapped the doctor's hand away when Carson tried to position an oxygen mask over his face.

"Elizabeth?" John's voice was hushed, but it carried to the far corners of the silent gateroom. She walked over to stand beside him, "Elizabeth, I'm sorry." His eyes started to close and the last words were little more than a ragged whisper. "It's not a rescue."

oOo

"Commander Bartos wants to see you."

McKay didn't look round at Gavell as the young man called out to him across the cockpit of the Asgard ship. The pilot's console was in pieces in front of him, and the blackened remains of a burned-out component were taking up all of his concentration. He waved an irritated hand in the general direction of the soldier, "Yes, yes. Tell him I'll be right there, just as soon as I've worked out how to bypass this circuit without re-routing the entire power control system."

An instant later Rodney was curled up on the cold metal deck, a tight knot of pain fighting for breath. Gavell's fist had driven the air from his lungs and left him gasping like a stranded fish._ He couldn't breathe_. Bright coloured sparks of light flashed randomly across his vision.

"Commander Bartos wants to see you…Now." The blond soldier's voice sounded oddly metallic and came from much too far away.

Rodney struggled desperately to pull in a breath as the bright lights closed in around him.

"You're only winded. Get up." The words were probably important, but Rodney's panicking brain refused to process them. He was twelve years old again, surrounded by the school bullies who made his daily life a misery. All he could do was curl into a tighter ball, protect his head and endure until they grew bored of tormenting him.

"I said get up!" A hand grabbed hold of his arm and dragged at his unresisting body. Finally, blissfully, he managed to suck in a wheezing mouthful of air. It wasn't enough to calm the pounding of his heart, but at least he no longer felt like he was being smothered.

He allowed himself to be hauled roughly to his feet and stood for a moment, hands on knees, until gradually his breathing began to come more easily.

"Now walk." Gavell's hand still gripped his arm tight enough to hurt. Rodney wanted to shake him off, pull away and stand on his own two feet but the look on the soldier's face gave him second thoughts.

It was only a short walk from the Asgard ship to the large tent towards which Gavell marched him, and by the time they were halfway there Rodney had his breathing back under control, sending plumes of vapour ahead of him into the freezing air. A light sprinkling of snow had fallen overnight, and the heavy, leaden sky overhead held the promise of worse to come.

As he slithered through frozen mud, Rodney tried to take in his surroundings. The camp wasn't big, just a couple of large canvas tents and a scattering of smaller ones, enough for the dozen or so men that McKay had seen, but no more than that. Even so, it almost entirely filled a small clearing in the dense woodland which surrounded it. Far off to Rodney's left, towards the low morning sun, a range of snow-capped mountains rose through the forest like icebergs, the tips of their icy peaks lost in the grey clouds. With a shiver, Rodney turned his attention back to the camp. Over on the far side was the Stargate with a handful of armed soldiers standing close, their eyes watchful. One of the dark-uniformed men was kneeling in front of the DHD, and as Rodney watched from the corner of his eye, the soldier removed the DHD's control crystal, placing it carefully into a small, metallic box.

Approaching one of the larger tents, Gavell finally let go of Rodney's arm allowing him to make the last few steps on his own.

The soldier lifted the tent flap to reveal Bartos seated at a low, metal table, on which lay the equipment taken from Rodney and his team. McKay's quick eyes darted across the tabletop; his laptop and scanner were missing, but most of the rest of their gear seemed to be there. As Rodney entered, the Commander looked up from studying Ronon's handgun, a fascinated expression on his face.

"Come in." He flashed a brief smile of welcome towards Rodney, before looking past him at the young soldier standing at his shoulder, "Here, Gavell; spoils of war." He tossed Ronon's gun to the uniformed man then indicated a second folding canvas chair. "Please, Dr McKay, you must be tired, take a seat."

Rodney debated with himself whether to refuse the offer and remain standing, but he could feel Gavell's eyes drilling into his back. And, to be honest, he was exhausted; his watch had been taken along with the rest of his equipment, and the time differences between the planets made it difficult to judge how long he had been awake now, but it felt like at least 24 hours, probably more. He sank down wearily into the chair.

"Can I offer you breakfast?" This time, it never crossed Rodney's mind to refuse. The last time he had eaten anything had been about half an hour before his capture, and that had been a single apricot flavoured PowerBar. In fact, thinking about it he was amazed that his hypoglycaemia hadn't made its presence known long before now. Seeing his expression, Bartos didn't wait for an answer and nodded to a young, dark-skinned soldier standing just inside the tent flap. The man hurried off, reappearing a few moments later carrying a metal tray bearing two plates stacked high with pancakes, along with cutlery and a small ceramic jug.

Bartos stood and took one of the plates, placing it down on the table in front of Rodney. Taking the other plate and the small jug for himself, the Commander poured a generous helping of thick, amber coloured liquid over his pancakes, then offered the jug to McKay.

Rodney sniffed the contents of the jug suspiciously.

"Don't worry, Dr McKay, it doesn't contain citrus." Bartos sat and started eating. Speaking around a mouthful of pancake he continued, "It's a sweet syrup made from the sap of a tree. I'm sure you'll find the taste to your liking."

Still wary, Rodney dipped his finger into the sticky syrup, and then tried a drop on his tongue. His eyes widened in surprise; if he didn't know better, he would swear that it was maple syrup. More enthusiastically, he poured a liberal helping onto his own stack of pancakes before digging in with a fork. If Bartos wanted to drug or poison him, he had no way of preventing it and the taste of warm pancakes with maple syrup was almost enough to let him forget his situation.

Almost.

As he ate, Rodney considered the man sitting opposite him. The grey-haired Commander could never have been mistaken for anything other than military; he looked every inch the soldier, from his imposing bearing to his neat haircut and impeccably clean-shaven face. He wore the same nondescript dark fatigues as the ones that Rodney had been given, and, even without insignia or badges, there was no doubt that he was accustomed to command. There was an air of effortless self-assurance about him that reminded McKay of General Hammond of the SGC. Here was a man who was used to giving orders, and to having those orders obeyed.

Bartos was clearly more than he appeared, although exactly what was still a puzzle; Rodney's first assumption had been Genii, but now he wasn't so sure. The Genii homeworld had recently been culled by the Wraith and Atlantis' military intelligence reports indicated that the entire Genii offworld network had been called back to help with the cleanup. Not that Rodney usually took much account of those reports. In his opinion the term 'military intelligence' was an oxymoron, but any information that concerned the Genii tended to grab his attention.

Rodney stabbed at another forkful of pancake.

And whether Bartos was Genii or not, it didn't explain how he had got hold of an Asgard ship.

As though reading his mind, the Commander interrupted Rodney's thoughts, "Now, is there anything you require that would help in your repairs of my ship?"

Rodney considered the question. If it was a genuine offer then this was an opportunity far too good to pass up; he flashed Bartos a hesitant grin, "I had a flat box with me, it was strapped to my back when you captured me." He mimed the size and shape of a laptop with his hands, "If I could have that back, then it would certainly make things a great deal easier." He looked hopefully at the Commander.

A rueful smile answered him, "Unfortunately, your laptop is not available, Dr McKay. But if you need any specific applications, I'm sure I can obtain another one for you."

At the words, Rodney felt a deep stab of alarm and the taste of pancakes turned to dust in his mouth; his eyes opened wide as he realised what the Commander's remark implied. There was only one place in the Pegasus Galaxy where anyone could 'obtain' a laptop.

Bartos had infiltrated Atlantis.

TBC


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but I cannot allow this to become a personal vendetta."

Sheppard stood before Elizabeth Weir's desk, his eyes blazing, unable to accept what the expedition leader was saying.

It had only been a month since Rodney's death. Just four weeks… 28 days… and already Weir was asking, no _ordering_ him to give up his search for Rodney's murderer. He couldn't trust himself to speak, but Dr Weir wasn't taking his silence as assent.

"Colonel," Elizabeth spoke as she leaned forward over her desk, "You are the senior military officer in Atlantis; your duty is to every member of this expedition." Her voice was full of sympathy; however it was the words, not the tone, which Sheppard heard. She stopped and stared hard into Sheppard's eyes, but if she was waiting for a sign of acknowledgement, she was going to be disappointed.

"John, please..." Sheppard frowned as Elizabeth's voice caught in her throat. For the first time since he'd walked into the room, he actually _looked_ at the seated woman in front of him.

God, she looked almost as bad as he felt.

The dark shadows under her eyes told of too many nights with too little sleep, and the grey pallor of her skin gave her an alarmingly Wraith-like paleness.

Sheppard had been getting by on coffee, hastily grabbed sandwiches and about two hours of restless sleep a night. All of his waking hours had been dedicated to tracking down the scattered soldiers of Bartos' command, a task made virtually impossible by the seemingly chaotic way that the local forces operated. Each unit consisted of a central core of officers and an ever-changing body of guerrilla fighters. Sheppard and his people had encountered many fighting units; all had heard of Bartos but not a single soldier had admitted to having served with him.

That hadn't stopped him from searching. Every day, the Colonel had stepped through the gate, burning with an overwhelming need to find Rodney's killer. The only exception had been the morning of McKay's memorial service; Sheppard had stood in silence as others had shared their memories of McKay. He alone had been witness to the manner of Rodney's death, yet he couldn't find any words to describe what his life had meant. That afternoon, he had returned to the planet until nightfall had forced him back to Atlantis.

Only now was Sheppard coming to realise how his behaviour must have been piling the pressure onto Elizabeth at a time when, more than anything else, she'd needed his help and support.

Glancing down, he pulled a chair towards himself and slumped wearily into it.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth." She gave him a tired but genuine smile. He could see how the strain had aged her; there were small lines around her eyes that hadn't been there only a month ago. He desperately wanted to keep her smile where it was, yet knew that he couldn't. Despising himself, he continued, "But I can't just give up. I made a promise."

The little colour that was left in her face drained away at his words.

"Please, John, we've already lost Rodney to Bartos." She spat the name of Rodney's killer like an insult. "We can't afford... _I_ can't afford to lose you too."

He understood exactly what she meant. His hatred for the man was like quicksand, and he could feel himself being gradually sucked under. It scared him more than any fear he'd ever felt in combat; scared him more than the Wraith, and he knew that, if he let it take him completely, he would never have the strength to pull himself back out again.

Maybe it _was_ time to stop. The very thought was like a knife through his heart. He couldn't give up, but perhaps he could find a compromise.

"Give me one more week, Elizabeth, just one week. If I haven't found Bartos by then, I'll let it go."

She didn't look happy, but after a few moments' hesitation, she nodded in agreement. The look in her eyes was still painful to see, but at least the despair had gone.

Sheppard hauled himself to his feet. He would grab something from the Mess Hall then head to the gateroom.

Radioing Teyla and Ronon to meet him at the gate, he turned his back on Elizabeth and made his way out of the room, his thoughts already focussed on the search.

oOo

Rodney scratched at his chin. His beard had gone through the itchy phase and not yet reached the need for a trim, but it still felt strange. Like the ill-fitting fatigues he'd been given to wear, the beard made it impossible for him to forget, even for a moment, that he was nothing more than a prisoner.

He scratched again. He knew he shouldn't have tried to palm that razor-blade on his first morning of capture. It wasn't as if he'd had any use for it, he'd only taken it to prove to himself that he still had some power over his own life, and now Bartos wouldn't let him shave, even under Gavell's ever-watchful eyes.

At the thought of Gavell, Rodney flinched involuntarily. He could swear that he could actually feel the gaze of the young soldier on his back as he worked. He didn't need to turn around to know that the blond man's piercing blue eyes were watching him even now from the cockpit's rear doorway, as the soldier waited for any opportunity to use his fists.

The man was a vicious little sadist, far too easy to provoke into violence, but always careful to hit him where it didn't show. Rodney had worked out by now that this was only to allow Bartos the pretence of not knowing what was going on. The 'Good Cop – Bad Cop' routine was no different from Bartos stopping him from shaving; it was all about controlling him, and just because he realised that didn't stop it from working.

He hunched back over the low pilot's console and moved the pebble-like Asgard computer interface across its surface. A deep humming started up in the engine compartment and Rodney turned to Gavell. The young soldier was standing by the closed doorway, one hand resting on Ronon's gun, which he wore in a low holster at his hip, another constant reminder to Rodney that he was completely alone.

Rodney shot the man a nervous smile. "You can tell the Commander that I'm ready for a test flight using the sub-light engines." In theory, Gavell had been assigned to him as an assistant, and, although Rodney was wary of ordering the soldier around, he was fairly confident that the young thug couldn't take offence at that one. But Gavell frowned, and Rodney felt his stomach tighten as the blond man took a menacing step towards him. Rodney flinched, squinting through frightened eyes at the approaching man, waiting for the fist to strike, but refusing to back away. The soldier took another step closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with the terrified scientist, then broke into a mocking grin at Rodney's obvious fear. With a contemptuous snort he turned his head away, flicking open a small radio to pass on McKay's message.

Rodney closed his eyes for a moment in relief as the tension began to drain from his body. The sadist had simply been playing with him. He took a deep, calming breath and opened his eyes again, running them once more over the readouts displayed on the pilot's console in front of him. If truth were told, he could have had the sub-light engines working fully a couple of days before now, but instead he'd been stalling, carefully manufacturing problems with the repairs. He was proud of how adept he'd become at inventing setbacks; he smiled quietly to himself, Elizabeth would have approved.

He'd needed time to work on his plan, but he knew that the amount of time that he could buy was rapidly running out. Still, now that everything was ready, he wouldn't have to stall any longer.

The transmitter was in place and all he needed now was to get the_ Hefnd _out through a space-gate. Once in space, the sub-light engines would work perfectly, proving to Bartos that he was following orders like a good little prisoner, and possibly even earning himself a bit more freedom. Then, when the test was complete, Bartos would have to re-enable the ship's DHD to dial back to the planet. Rodney had calculated that it would take less than 4 microseconds for his brilliantly written macro to divert the dialling sequence to Atlantis and transmit his distress message along with the address that was being dialled, before switching back. No one would be any the wiser. And the beauty of his plan was that from then on each time the ship was used to access a gate, Atlantis would be able to track it; all he had to do was sit back and wait for Sheppard to come to the rescue.

As he glanced back down at the display on the Asgard control panel, Rodney absently scratched at his beard again. A hot shower and a shave were the top priorities on his list of things to do as soon as he got back to Atlantis.

"Dr McKay, Gavell tells me that you are finally ready." Rodney froze at the sound of Bartos' voice behind him. The man could move like a cat.

Before turning to face the Commander, McKay schooled his expression into one of innocent enthusiasm, something else he'd become skilful at over the weeks.

He flashed the grey-haired man a bright smile, "I don't want to overtax the engines by trying for a full launch from the planet's surface. But if you'll just dial out to a space-gate then I'm ready to power up the sub-light engines for a test flight."

"I'm afraid not, Dr McKay." Bartos gave Rodney an exaggerated look of regret. "I've allowed you a certain amount of autonomy, and now I find that you have betrayed my trust in you." He nodded curtly to Gavell who stepped over to McKay with a grin and unceremoniously manhandled the physicist away from the pilot's station.

Bartos crouched down in the vacated space and unclipped an inspection panel. Reaching into the console, he smoothly removed the transmitter that Rodney had so carefully hidden, turning it over in his hands as he examined the device.

"A well-designed piece of equipment, Dr McKay, but I feel that it has distracted you from your work for long enough." He gave Gavell another nod and the young soldier's fist landed before Rodney had time to react.

This time, Gavell didn't stop at a single punch to the stomach. The first blow doubled McKay over, bringing his chin down to meet Gavell's upraised knee with enough impact to snap Rodney's head back and drop him to the ground as if pole-axed. He lay stunned, unable to protect himself as the blond man's heavy boot landed in his ribs with vicious force, sending a line of fire erupting across his back.

The deck of the Asgard ship seemed to buck and heave beneath him as Rodney struggled to breathe through the pain, dragging in thin gasps of air which left his lips in low whimpers while fists and feet continued to strike at his exposed body.

Darkness closed in around his own personal universe of suffering; then as suddenly as it began, the assault was over. The beating had avoided his head and hands, but the rest of McKay was a solid mass of agony.

A pair of polished boots filled his vision and Rodney tried to flinch away, still dazed from the violent attack.

Bartos hunkered down beside him, his face close to McKay's and his voice hard. "So far, I have kept young Gavell on a very tight rein, but if you cross me again, I will allow him his head."

Rodney shot a frightened glance at the younger soldier. A feral glint flashed in Gavell's eyes, his wolf-like grin widening as he stared down at McKay.

"Dr McKay, my patience is limited," Bartos continued coldly. "You have one more week before I dispense with your services and find an alternative method of returning home. For that, I would require access to the Atlantean Stargate. I'm afraid your friends would suffer the consequences of your failure." Through the sound of blood pumping in his ears, Rodney heard the Commander rise to his feet and address Gavell. "Call me when he's upright, I still want to test the sub-light engines before the end of the day."

An icy blast of air blew across Rodney's back as Bartos opened the cockpit door and strode out through the rear of the ship and into the daylight, leaving McKay to his misery.

A week, a month, a year. It wouldn't make any difference; the hyperdrive was irreparable, it would _never _work again. Rodney curled up tighter on the freezing metal deck, wrapping his arms around his knees in abject despair. His only chance of rescue was gone and the idea of him managing to successfully escape without help was beyond the realms of possibility.

He had a week at the most before Bartos finally realised that he was not going to fix the ship, and 'dispensed with his services'. Rodney shuddered at the images that the innocent sounding phrase conjured up in his mind. Even worse were the thoughts that followed. He had no doubt that the Commander could get past the defences of Atlantis if he wanted to. Bartos obviously had at least one person in the city, possibly more, and his ruthless disregard for anyone who stood in his way was almost certain to result in casualties. Another shiver ran through his body at the thought of Bartos and his men at large in Atlantis, but, stuck here on the planet, Rodney could do nothing to help the city.

"Alright, McKay, get up; you've had your rest." Gavell's harsh voice cut through his thoughts, and the physical pain hit back with a vengeance. Rodney groaned as the muscles in his back and legs began a steady throbbing, but the soldier ignored his obvious suffering with a scornful snarl. "Come on, Doctor. No time to waste." Reaching down, Gavell hauled him roughly to his feet and shoved him towards the pilot's station.

Catching his balance an instant before he collided with the solid console, Rodney steadied himself and lowered his head in despair. What was the point? The hyperdrive was so much scrap metal; as soon as he got the ship out into space and tried to establish a wormhole the drive would overload. He grunted dejectedly to himself. If he could be sure that Bartos would be aboard the ship, it would be worth blowing the engine, even if it meant killing himself in the blast as well, but there was no way to guarantee that the Commander would be aboard, especially now that he had no reason to trust McKay.

Rodney froze as an idea struck him like a hammer blow.

If he could fire up the hyperdrive while it was still here on the planet's surface, then the explosion would destroy the ship together with every living thing in the vicinity. Rodney's mind began to race. Now that he had a plan to focus on, he could begin to force his pain into the background.

He turned to the rear compartment where the hyperdrive stood; it wouldn't be an easy job to persuade the engine to engage in an atmosphere, but the clock was ticking and failure was not an option. Maybe he couldn't save himself, but at least he could protect Atlantis.

TBC


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Rodney blew on his fingers to warm them through. He didn't want to be making simple mistakes at this point. The cockpit was in pitch darkness apart from the yellow pool of brightness cast by a heavy, rubber-coated flashlight sitting on the pilot's console, and he squinted through tired eyes at the control panel in front of him. He'd been working on the hyperdrive for the past week, stopping only when he could no longer keep his eyes open and sleeping curled in a blanket on the ice-cold metal deck. Even so, he'd feared that he wouldn't be finished in time.

The first three days had been taken up just trying to convince the mainframe to accept his input; the last four, trying to find a way to open a wormhole while still on the planet's surface before the failsafes could lock him out. Cold hands and tiredness were not helping at all. The control panels on the_ Hefnd_ were tiny and intricate, and the hyperdrive engine itself was unlike any he had ever seen before. It was definitely a prototype. He wasn't even sure how a wormhole generator this small was possible within the laws of physics, as he understood them. He only wished that he could have had time to study it in detail, but now his time had run out.

With a few extra days, he might have been able to rig up a timing device to engage the hyperdrive and then would have taken his chances on escape, however slim they may have been. But he hadn't got a few extra days. Bartos was no longer showing any pretence at civility and Rodney knew that by the end of tomorrow, the Commander would make good on his threat to invade Atlantis.

A sudden bitter wind blew through the cockpit and Rodney absently turned up the collar of his dark uniform, pulling it closer around his scruffily bearded chin. Over the past five weeks the weather had been getting steadily worse. Snow was falling almost constantly now in huge, white flakes; it covered the clearing two feet deep and bowed nearby saplings until they bent, their tips almost touching the ground under its weight.

He hunched back over the pilot's station and readjusted the flashlight's beam to a better position.

It was the middle of the night now. In the early evening Gavell had handed over his supervision to an older, heavily muscled guard, but it wouldn't be long before the younger soldier returned to take up his duty again. Rodney glanced over his shoulder; the thickset man was less vigilant than Gavell, obviously preferring the comforts of a warm fireside to the tedium of watching over McKay as he worked. From the corner of his eye, Rodney could see the man standing by the hatchway at the rear of the ship, talking in a low voice to someone positioned just outside McKay's view. Now was the best opportunity Rodney had had all day to put his plan into action.

Running chilled fingers over the hyperdrive controls, Rodney checked the readout again for the sequence of figures that signified that the engine was ready to engage.

There was no way of testing his calculations, other than attempting to establish a wormhole and seeing what happened next. Although, if his calculations were correct, he wouldn't have long to make his observations before the engine overloaded and the resulting explosion annihilated an area the size of a city.

His shoulders tightened at the terrifying thought. Forcing himself to relax, he took a deep lungful of air and let it out slowly, watching the vapour cloud dissipate in front of his face.

Okay, he was ready. He would save the day for Atlantis, one last time. And if his plan worked, they would never even know.

Before he had a chance to lose his nerve, he fired up the hyperdrive engine and brought the wormhole generator online.

oOo

The standard military-issue 9mm slid smoothly from the holster at his side, span once in his fingers and lined up on the spot on the far wall of the gateroom which he had chosen as his target, in a single, fluid movement. Ronon didn't need to pull the trigger to know that his aim was true even though the gun still felt small and insubstantial in his hand.

He returned the handgun to its holster and began the exercise once again.

After the fiftieth repetition, he stopped.

He wasn't good at waiting. His team should have left through the gate by now, on their search for Bartos, but Sheppard had been called to a meeting with Dr Weir, and hadn't appeared yet.

Ronon frowned to himself. When had he started thinking of 'his team'? For the last seven years, he had been alone. Even when he had been forced by injury or storms to live for a few nights among others, he had always remained apart, keeping to himself and leaving as soon as was possible. He had told himself that it was to protect the people who had taken him in from the attention of the Wraith, but that had only been part of the truth. After Sateda, he hadn't wanted to 'belong'.

It had been here, among strangers from another galaxy, that he had somehow become part of a team again. He hadn't realised quite how much he'd missed simply having people around him that he could rely on to be there. Until five weeks ago.

Now, like having the 9mm at his side instead of the familiar weight of his own gun, he felt unbalanced.

He slid the weapon from its holster and aimed again at the spot on the far wall. The pistol worked just fine, it did the job, but it wasn't his gun.

"Ronon." Teyla's soft voice came from a few steps behind him. The Athosian could move almost silently when she wanted to, but Ronon had been aware of her presence before she spoke. Re-holstering the handgun, he turned and gave a quick nod of greeting. Like him, Teyla was armed and ready to start out through the gate on their continuing search. Her hand was raised to the radio that sat in her left ear as she listened with a slight frown. "Colonel Sheppard says that there will be no mission today; Dr Weir will be requiring him for other duties for the next few days, but we will not be needed. He will meet us in the Mess Hall shortly to explain."

Ronon frowned back at the slender woman. The search for Bartos had been frustrating; they had made little progress in the five weeks since McKay's death, but he would not have thought that Sheppard would have allowed this mission to be called off, especially not at the last minute, unless there was an emergency. And 'other duties' didn't sound like an emergency to Ronon.

Teyla tilted her head in tacit agreement, her look telling him that she, too, was surprised at Sheppard's message. With a concerned glance towards Weir's office, she began to make her way across the gateroom in the direction of the Mess Hall.

His long legs quickly bringing him to her side, Ronon found himself wondering exactly what could have caused Sheppard's sudden change in plan.

oOo

Elizabeth Weir gave a brief but sincere smile across her desk to the_ Daedalus'_ commander sitting opposite her, "Colonel Caldwell, I'd like to thank you again for taking such good care of our latest expedition members while they were aboard the _Daedalus_." She waited until the older officer had politely acknowledged her thanks before continuing, "Dr Beckett has taken charge of the new medical staff, and Dr Zelenka tells me that his scientists are already settling in to their assigned quarters."

She turned a tired face towards the second seated man and fixed him with her eyes. "So, John, you'll be spending the next few days integrating the new military personnel?"

The look that Sheppard directed back was unreadable, but Elizabeth had no doubts that resentment was simmering just below the surface.

He sat with his hands folded over the P-90 resting in his lap. His face was a deep bronze after five weeks of long hours under two hot suns, but the tan couldn't disguise the unhealthy pallor that lay beneath. Elizabeth was startled to realise just how drained he had become over the past few days. John had never carried much spare weight, and now his face was gaunt, giving him a look far older than his years. He was obviously close to exhaustion, but his back was ramrod straight in the chair.

She held his gaze until finally he gave a curt nod of confirmation.

The reason for his hostility towards her was understandable, but, although she sympathised, she was certain that her decision was the right one. It wasn't simply that his duty lay here, in Atlantis, getting to know his new people; he needed to end his soul-destroying course of action while he still could.

It had been a week since he had given his word to end the hunt for Rodney's killer. In that time, John and his teams had moved no closer to finding Bartos. In fact, she knew that the few leads that they had been following had all come to dead-ends, although that obviously hadn't made her insistence that he call off the search any easier for him to accept.

Finally allowing her eyes drop from Sheppard's, she forced herself to relax slightly before turning back to address Caldwell.

"Colonel Caldwell, now that we've finished here, can I offer you a full tour of Atlantis? I know that you didn't have the opportunity on your previous visits." Leaning slightly forward in her chair, she managed to summon up a warmer smile for the commander of the_ Daedalus_.

Having Caldwell present at this meeting had been difficult. She would've much preferred to have spoken with Sheppard alone when the time had come to remind him of his promise. Unfortunately, the_ Daedalus_ had dropped out of hyperspace into the sky above Atlantis nearly a day earlier than scheduled, carrying more than forty new expedition members along with all the paperwork which that entailed. Try as she might, she hadn't been able to find the time to meet with Sheppard in private before Colonel Caldwell beamed down to officially hand over the Service personnel.

She'd been quietly observing the man throughout the meeting. When they'd first met a few months ago, she'd found him antagonistic. He'd been informally offered the job of Military leader of Atlantis, and, when she had managed to block that proposal, it had obviously rankled with him. But now that he'd had time to come to terms with Sheppard's continuing command, his manner towards both John and herself had warmed a little. It was finally looking as if they would settle into a slightly more comfortable working relationship and showing him around her city would be a good chance to get to know him better.

Caldwell returned her smile, but before he could reply to Elizabeth's offer, the datapad on her desk chimed quietly; the sound was followed by the voice of a gateroom technician. "Dr Weir, I've got an incoming visual message from the_ Daedalus_ for Colonel Caldwell."

She gave the _Daedalus'_ commander an enquiring look, "Would you like to take that here, Colonel?" At his nod she politely turned the datapad screen towards him before responding to the call. "Thank you, please put it through."

A young man's face appeared. Elizabeth recognised the officer as Dave Kleinman, a USAF Captain who she had met briefly during the _Daedalus'_ first visit to Atlantis. He looked up from his bridge station as he spoke. "Colonel. A few minutes ago we picked up a recorded message broadcasting on one of the Asgard emergency channels."

"Asgard?" Caldwell reacted to the information with a look of surprise, and Elizabeth shared the feeling; there were no Asgard ships in the Pegasus Galaxy that she knew of, in fact, the _Daedalus_ was the probably only craft outside the Milky Way Galaxy likely to be routinely scanning those particular frequencies.

"Yes, Sir." Kleinman replied, "It claimed to be from a ship called the_ Hefnd_ but Hermiod has no knowledge of any vessel of that name in the Asgard fleet."

"What was the message?"

"Just the name of the ship and a set of co-ordinates, Sir. The message repeated twice and then cut off."

Caldwell frowned slightly at the scant details. "Have you established the location?"

"Affirmative, Sir." The young Captain glanced back down at his display. "The spatial co-ordinates given don't tie in to any known gate address, but it would take the _Daedalus_ a little under an hour to reach the area."

"Understood." Colonel Caldwell inclined his head towards Elizabeth, addressing his next words to her. "It looks as though I'll have to take you up on that offer of a tour on my next visit, Dr Weir." He started to his feet as he turned his attention back to Kleinman, "Lay in a course and prepare to get underway."

"Permission for me and my team to tag along, Sir?" Sheppard had been silent for so long that it was almost a shock to hear him speak.

"I think we can handle this without your help, Colonel." Caldwell's manner turned suddenly frosty at the younger officer's words, but it was Sheppard's tone that surprised Elizabeth. He sounded intrigued. It was the first time she'd heard curiosity in his voice since Rodney's death and she made a quick decision; allowing John to pursue his curiosity might be the most beneficial thing she could do for him right now.

"No question, Sir," Sheppard responded politely to Caldwell's brusque words, "I'm simply interested in finding out what an Asgard ship is doing this far away from home." He gave a faint lopsided grin.

Before Caldwell could reply, Elizabeth spoke up. "So am I. I only wish that I could go as well, Steven," She caught the older man off guard with her use of his first name and smoothly pressed home her advantage. "And I'm sure it would be valuable for Ronon and Teyla to see the_ Daedalus_ in action."

The Colonel narrowed his eyes slightly, but, since he had no real reason to refuse, eventually his face broke into a thin smile.

"Of course, Dr Weir." He turned to Sheppard, "Have your team ready to beam aboard the Daedalus, Colonel. We shall be leaving immediately."

TBC


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"What the hell are you doing?"

Rodney opened tightly squeezed eyes at the sound of the thickset soldier's shout and looked frantically around the cockpit in alarm.

He was still alive.

The hyperdrive had failed to explode.

His plan hadn't worked.

The three thoughts blazed through his brain in lightning succession before his darting eyes came to a focus on the muscled guard advancing menacingly towards him in the flashlight's beam, a hand dropping to the pistol at his side.

A wave of panic rolled over McKay; without conscious thought his own hand grabbed at the heavy flashlight, swinging it with all his strength at the face of the approaching soldier.

It struck with a sickening crack, jarring Rodney's arm all the way to his shoulder and snapping him out of his almost mindless fear. The guard crumpled at his feet like a broken doll, and Rodney stared wide eyed in shock at the fallen man as the realisation of what he had just done suddenly hit him.

Rodney's reflexes took over, commanding his legs to move. He found himself leaping over the body and sprinting towards the rear hatchway and the all-embracing darkness beyond.

He'd almost reached the freezing midnight air when a second armed figure stepped out into his path.

"Nice try, McKay." Gavell's familiar sneer was like a fist to the stomach. Rodney felt himself cringe as the young soldier calmly raised the large pistol in his hand and levelled it at McKay's head. Lifting his arms in a vain attempt to protect himself from the shot, Rodney frantically tried to stop his forward momentum, but his effort was hopeless. His feet skidded away from him as his thick-soled boots lost their grip on the icy metal deck, and he cannoned, shoulder first, into the fair-haired man with enough force to send them both sprawling to the ground.

Rodney landed on top, his left elbow ramming hard into Gavell's chest where something gave way beneath his weight. The young soldier shuddered once then lay still.

Now, pure adrenaline was in control of McKay's body. Dropping the flashlight and snatching up the blond man's handgun, he scrambled to his feet and bolted through the hatchway.

Once out of the ship, the full force of the biting wind struck him. Driving snow blinded his eyes as he barged his way through the storm, and he turned his head away from the icy blast, trying to orientate himself in the darkness. He was dimly aware that the Stargate was somewhere over to his right, but, even in his confusion, he knew that the control crystal had been removed from the DHD. Escaping through the gate right now was not an option.

Turning towards what he hoped was the closest edge of the forest, he began to run.

His only chance was to reach the woodland before the alarm was raised; once among the trees, he might be able to hide from the inevitable pursuit until he could think of a way of getting off-planet.

A shout from behind him sounded muted through the storm, but it was immediately answered by a second voice, slightly closer, and suddenly the impossibility of his plan struck him.

What the hell was he thinking? There was no way he could ever escape. He should give himself up now and accept his fate. Whatever Bartos had in mind for him, it couldn't be much worse than either a bullet in the back or slowly freezing to death out here in the darkness.

He slithered to a halt as shivers began to rack his body. Turning back towards the camp, he felt a weight in his hand and remembered the pistol that he'd snatched from Gavell. If he was caught carrying that, he wouldn't even get the chance to surrender; one of Bartos' soldiers would just shoot first and not bother about asking questions later. He drew back his arm, ready to throw the gun away from himself when he stopped and looked at the weapon.

It was Ronon's gun.

Rodney stared at the pistol in silence as the blizzard raged around him.

He hadn't known the Satedan for long, but, from the moment they met, he'd been impressed by the big man's determination and strength of purpose. Not that he'd ever told Ronon that, of course. In fact, he'd never really spoken to the man outside of team missions, but he did recognise the possibility that maybe right now he could learn something from the Runner.

Never give up.

While he remained free, there was always the chance, however remote, of escaping back to Atlantis.

Closing his fingers tighter around the pistol's grip, Rodney turned away from the encampment and forced his legs and his brain to start working again.

The storm could be his ally. Within a few seconds, the driving snow would cover his tracks, so all he had to do was get to the tree line without being seen. Then he could make his way around the camp to the Stargate. His plan didn't go much further than that at the moment; he couldn't use the gate without the control crystal, and getting hold of that was not going to be easy, but if he could work out a way of reaching the DHD, he might be able to do a little expert sabotage of his own.

The people of Atlantis were still in danger, and he was still the only one who could save them.

oOo

Slightly less than an hour after leaving Atlantis, the _Daedalus_ dropped out of hyperspace.

Colonel Caldwell leaned forward in his command chair as he stared up at the main screen and the planet which filled its field of view. He quickly took in the details; the planet was remarkably Earth-like in appearance with much of its surface covered by vast, blue oceans streaked with clouds. From this viewpoint, a single large continent was visible, centred over one of the poles, and extending down towards the equator in a broad sweep of land. They had arrived in a low orbit, just to the daylight side of the planet's shadowy terminator, and immediately below them a swathe of thick cloud blanketed the ground beneath.

To his right, Captain Kleinman was already checking a readout. "Allowing for the planet's rotation, the co-ordinates we received indicate that the message was sent from a position on the night side." On the screen a faint network of gridlines appeared, overlaying the planet's surface, and a single point of light began to flash steadily.

"How close can you beam us down?" Caldwell frowned at Colonel Sheppard's sudden question. The younger officer and his team had been unusually quiet during the journey through hyperspace, standing together at the rear of the bridge, but now Sheppard had stepped forward and was gazing with avid interest at the main screen.

With a brief flash of annoyance, Caldwell considered keeping Sheppard and his team aboard the _Daedalus_, sending only his own people planetside. Almost immediately, he dismissed the idea as petty. He was not unaware of the situation; he knew that this was the first regular mission that Sheppard's team had undertaken since McKay's death. And as there had been no further communication over the Asgard emergency channels, he was still unsure of what the mission would turn out to be. Since Sheppard's team was prepared and available, there was no reason not to make use of their offworld experience.

Caldwell opened a channel to engineering, "Hermiod, can you transport a team directly onto the Asgard ship?"

"No." The Asgard technician's answer was brief and to the point, as always. "The co-ordinates were not so precise. I am, however, confident of transporting your people to within 400 metres of the _Hefnd's_ position."

The Colonel considered his options; three teams should be sufficient to locate the Asgard ship, with two more standing by in case of problems. He notified his own team leaders to make ready their departure, before turning to face Sheppard. "Very well, Colonel," He nodded once to the younger officer, "If your team is ready, then you have a go."

oOo

As the shimmer of the transporter beam dissolved around them, John took his first lungful of air on the new planet, and watched the fog of his breath swirl and dissipate as he exhaled.

Damn, it was freezing. For the past five weeks he'd spent every waking hour in the scorching heat of two suns. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be this cold.

He squinted into the darkness. They'd arrived in a dense forest; up, above the sheltering branches, a storm raged, but here, below the canopy, it was eerily calm. The air was still and crisp. Nothing moved. Flicking on the flashlight attached to his P-90, John slowly swept the beam in a full circle. There was no trace of the Asgard ship which they had come to find, only tightly-packed trees and a scattering of low, scrubby undergrowth.

Taking a lifesigns detector from his jacket pocket, he checked the surrounding area. The two small clusters of dots standing close together, he identified as Caldwell's other teams but there were another dozen dots spread throughout the area, moving in what looked remarkably like a standard military search pattern. Sheppard frowned to himself. If those dots were Asgard, then they were behaving in a very unAsgardy way.

"Colonel!" Teyla's excited whisper startled him out of his thoughts and he moved quickly to her side. She was standing a few yards away, looking out into the darkness; directly ahead of her, the dense forest suddenly opened up into a clearing. Almost horizontal snow was whipping across the open space driven by a howling wind but even through the blizzard Sheppard could make out the unmistakable shapes of a handful of dark canvas tents. He glanced down at Teyla in surprise and saw the look in her eyes; she had evidently recognised them as well. They were identical to the tents which they had been seeing every day for the past five weeks. The same military design that Bartos and his men had been using.

It didn't seem possible. After five weeks of searching for Rodney's killer, they couldn't have simply stumbled across the planet where he was hiding. Could they?

Looking over to Ronon and Teyla, it was obvious by their faces that the same thought had crossed their minds. Both fighters were tense and ready for action.

With a growing anticipation, John turned his attention back to the lifesigns detector in his hand. Most of the dots were in the forest, only three appearing to be somewhere in the encampment ahead. He made a quick decision; they had to check this out and they needed to move fast.

Pulling his P-90 into the ready position, he gave a terse nod to his teammates and started forward towards the clearing.

oOo

Rodney put his back to the trunk of a massive tree. He'd been making his cautious way through the forest for nearly an hour now, and he was totally lost. All these trees looked the same in the dark and somehow he seemed to have got himself turned around; now he had no idea how to get back to the camp and the Stargate.

He raised Ronon's gun with a slight grunt and hefted it two-handed; it was far heavier than a 9mm but the weight felt solid and reassuring in his hands. If he could only hold it steady enough to aim then it might be the edge he needed if one of Bartos' men caught up with him.

Sweat began to gather on his brow despite the bitter coldness of the night air and he wiped the sleeve of his dark uniform across his face, the coarse material rasping against his rough beard.

A sound behind him snapped his head around in sudden panic; someone was moving stealthily through the trees towards him.

Steeling himself for action, he darted round the trunk of the tree, pointed Ronon's powerful gun at the noise and pulled the trigger in a single, frantic movement.

The recoil nearly knocked him off his feet, and an entire expanse of forest exploded into kindling in a very satisfying blast. It wasn't exactly the area that he'd been aiming at, but it was close enough.

Staggering slightly, he threw himself back into safety behind the tree and looked at the pistol with a new respect. If he ever managed to get back to Atlantis, he would have to find out from Ronon where he'd got this gun, and if there were any more like it.

His heart-rate gradually slowed to a more reasonable level. Gripping the pistol tighter, he risked a glance back around the tree-trunk. Whatever he had fired at, it was no longer moving, but someone was bound to have heard the noise of the shot and it wasn't safe to stay here any longer. He quickly considered his options; beneath the thick canopy of trees, the undergrowth was sparse and scrubby, but there seemed to be the suggestion of a trail winding off into the darkness to his left, and, since he had no idea where he was heading, that direction was as good as any other.

Pushing himself away from the tree, he forced his exhausted legs back into action. In the dense forest, out of the bitter wind, the cold was almost bearable, and once he'd got far enough away from here, he could rest; but for now, he just had to keep moving.

oOo

The blizzard raged around them as John and his team set their first cautious steps into the clearing.

Snow blurred his vision and the scream of the wind rose, almost drowning out the sound of a thunderous gunshot which suddenly rang out behind them, somewhere inside the forest. The Colonel looked round, raising his P-90 in response, but even before the sound was swallowed up by the storm, Ronon had broken into a run, sprinting back into the forest towards the shot.

"Ronon!" Sheppard called across the blizzard.

Without looking back or slowing his pace, the Satedan shouted over his shoulder, "That was my gun."

Sheppard turned to follow then stopped with a thought. Wiping flakes of snow from the small screen, he held the lifesigns detector up into his flashlight's beam. All the visible dots were converging on the sound of the shot, except for one, which was moving rapidly away from that point. John cleared more snow from his eyes. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on in the forest, but something told him that intercepting the single dot might be the easiest way to find out.

"Ronon!" He yelled again into the darkness, but the big man was already out of sight. John raised his hand to his radio. "Ronon! Follow me!" He didn't wait for a reply. With a quick glance towards Teyla, he set off into the forest.

oOo

With the noise of the storm dying away behind them, Sheppard led Teyla out of the clearing and back into the forest. From the sound of the shot, Ronon's gun had been fired less than a hundred yards away among the trees to their right, and Sheppard wasted no time in heading directly that way.

As he forced a path through the dense undergrowth of the forest edge, John glanced back down at the device in his hand. The flashing point of light was still moving rapidly away from the gunshot and he altered their course to close in on it. A second dot was also moving steadily in their direction; that one had to be Ronon making his way towards them, but the Satedan himself hadn't reappeared yet.

They were getting close to their target now. Switching off the flashlight, John squinted into the pitch-black night trying to penetrate the gloom until gradually his eyes became accustomed to the darkness.

Without warning, something broke through the shadows above them. He looked up to see a large bird-like creature flying over their heads on silent wings, spooked by the gunshot, or by someone in the forest just up ahead. With another quick check of the lifesigns detector, Sheppard began to walk forwards again, carefully advancing on the now stationary dot on the screen.

Only a few yards further into the trees, they stepped into a small patch of thinner undergrowth and John paused, his instinct warning him of danger. Teyla came to stand at his shoulder, her body tense. He glanced again at the small screen in his hand which showed the point of light, flashing less than half a dozen yards away in front of them and Sheppard peered into the night. Nothing moved.

He squinted harder into the dark, but still the undergrowth in front on him appeared empty. Then, like a Magic Eye puzzle slipping into focus, what had been a simple patch of shadows suddenly resolved into a human shape.

Now that he could see the outline of the person it was obvious; the pale skin of its hands and face easily visible in the darkness.

Sheppard took another step closer until he was within five yards of the figure. From this distance, he could just make out the form of a pistol, grasped in its hands. The man didn't appear to have seen them yet, but the pistol was pointed in their direction. Swinging his P-90 around, John thumbed the flashlight back on.

The instant that the light struck his face, the dark-clothed figure turned his head away as if blinded. "Drop the gun!" Sheppard called through the blackness to the man caught in his flashlight's glare.

At Sheppard's sharp order, his opponent flinched and looked back up into the light with narrowed eyes. As he did so, John took a cautious step forward, getting a clearer look. The man was medium sized with a rough beard and a shock of unkempt brown hair. Above the beard, the face was deathly pale, almost white in the flashlight's beam, with dark shadows below bloodshot blue eyes. Lowering the barrel of his P-90 slightly, John allowed light to fall on the man's clothing. He was wearing a uniform that John recognised immediately, even in the semi-darkness and the Colonel felt a cold anger that he had been trying to keep in check welling up inside him again. His eyes flicked down to the unmistakable shape of Ronon's pistol held in white-knuckled fingers and any lingering uncertainty in his mind disappeared. This was one of Bartos' soldiers.

"Drop it! Now!" He spat the words out in a harsh bark and took another step forwards, towards the ashen-faced man. With a steadying breath, he lifted his P-90 back into a firing position, then paused, caught between the need to neutralise the threat to himself and Teyla, and the possibility of taking the soldier alive for questioning.

As he sighted along the P-90, John could see that the man in front of him was holding Ronon's gun in shaking hands, although it didn't seem to be the cold that was making them tremble. He looked desperate, almost haunted, but the look only lasted for a moment before an expression of calm spread across his face and the pistol stopped its wavering. Sensing that the soldier was about to fire, John's decision was made for him and his finger tightened on the trigger.

In a sudden crashing of undergrowth, Ronon burst from the scrub, catching the man completely off guard. Before the soldier could react, Ronon had wrapped his long arms around him and pitched him to the ground. They fell sideways under the Satedan's weight and Ronon snatched the pistol from an unresisting hand, turning it instantly back on his prey. John could hear the pistol's rising whine as Ronon took aim, but it was the look on the soldier's face as he stared up at the gun in front of him that grabbed the Colonel's attention. The man was terrified, his blue eyes wide with fear; the expression was shockingly familiar and with a jolt to the pit of his stomach John recognised the bearded man.

"Ronon! No!" Sheppard's cry shattered the freezing night air as a feeling close to fear ripped through him, but the aim of the Satedan's gun didn't waver.

A vision of Bartos, firing the bullet that ended Rodney's life, filled John's mind; he couldn't let it happen again. _"Ronon!" _He yelled at the Runner. Sprinting towards the two men, his voice almost cracked in its urgency, "Don't shoot! It's McKay!"

As the words left his lips, the sheer impossibility of them struck him like a blow. McKay? How could that possible? He'd seen Rodney die; watched, powerless to act, as the scientist had been brutally murdered in front of his eyes. He pushed the memory back along with the anger that came with it, and focussed again on the man lying on the cold ground beneath Ronon's gun.

The man was staring up at Ronon, the terror on his face now transformed into an expression of stunned disbelief. That was no trick of the shadows. The look was pure Rodney.

"It's McKay." Sheppard's fierce assertion was as much for himself as for the Satedan and John felt his jaw clench at his own words. However, Ronon's gun had only wavered at the sound of Rodney's name, then steadied back to aim unerringly at the helpless man at his feet; Ronon was obviously less than certain of his captive's identity. John spoke again, his voice even tighter, "Ronon, lower your weapon."

Ronon turned his face towards the light with a frown. "McKay?" The doubt-filled question was directed at Sheppard, but it was Teyla's soft voice that answered from John's shoulder.

"Ronon. He is unarmed now. If you allow him to stand then we can all see him more clearly." Despite their calm tone, her words carried just as much reservation as Ronon's had.

Still frowning, Ronon reached down a hand, heaving Rodney to his feet and pulling him forwards until the Runner was staring directly down into the smaller man's face. "McKay? That really you?" He growled, suspiciously.

Stepping closer to the two men, John watched as Rodney nodded dumbly in reply. From this distance, Sheppard could hear Rodney's laboured breathing and see the stoop of his shoulders; he was hunched and shivering, apparently exhausted to the limit of endurance. John placed a hand on McKay's shoulder and turned him to face into the light; as he did so, his fingers tightened unconsciously, as though to prove to himself that McKay was real and not an illusion.

McKay winced at the touch and John let his hand fall instantly as he realised that even that contact had caused the scientist pain.

"Rodney? How did…?" John started to speak, then faltered at his first clear sight of McKay's face. The scientist looked as though he had been through hell, his tired and drawn features almost unrecognisable in the flashlight's harsh glare. The animation that was normally such a vital part of his expression had been replaced by a bone-deep weariness. He had aged ten years in five weeks and, with a shock like a fist to his stomach, John was struck by the possibility that Rodney had been Wraith drained. The 'how' and the 'why' were suddenly less important, and he began again, "Are you, uh, are you okay?"

To Sheppard's amazement, Rodney grinned weakly at the question, the faint smile bringing a hint of life back to his face. John felt his shoulders sag as a tension which he hadn't even known was there, flowed out of them. In a cracked voice McKay started to answer, "Colonel…" But the word had barely left his lips when he suddenly pitched forward, as if hit by a violent blow from behind. A warm mist sprayed across John's cheek, cooling almost instantly in the freezing air, and Rodney slammed into him then crumpled bonelessly to the ground as a deafening gunshot rang through the night air.

"Rodney!" Sheppard yelled as the dark shape of Teyla rushed past him and dropped to her knees at McKay's side.

Reacting automatically, John swept the muzzle of his P-90 in a wide arc to cover the forest beyond McKay. A glint of light reflected on something metallic in the undergrowth and, almost without conscious control, Sheppard's finger curled around his trigger. The sharp hail of bullets from his P-90 was punctuated by a single measured blast from Ronon's pistol, swiftly followed by the sound of a body falling through the vegetation. The whole incident had taken less than two seconds.

Leaving Ronon to deal with the fallen gunman, Sheppard turned back towards Rodney. The scientist's body was shielded from his sight by Teyla as she knelt beside him, her hands busy with a field dressing. She was talking to McKay in a low voice; John couldn't hear the words, but he could hear Rodney's damp coughing which gradually dissolved into a rattling sigh. McKay was alive, but he didn't sound good.

"Teyla?" John's single, anxious word was enough, although his team-mate didn't look round to answer.

"He needs a doctor; he is losing a lot of blood." Her hands continued to work as she spoke, and Sheppard saw her crimson-stained fingers caught in the beam of her own flashlight.

"Oh crap." The terse words escaped before John could bite them back. He tapped urgently at the radio in his ear. "_Daedalus_, this is Sheppard. I have a man down, beam us directly to the Infirmary."

The soft shimmering was almost instantaneous, and, seconds later, Sheppard's team had vanished from the surface of the planet.

TBC


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It had been a false trail, petering out into nothing less than twenty yards from where it had started. Rodney had paused in the pitch darkness listening for sounds of the pursuit that he knew would come.

A rustling in the canopy made him swing the pistol upwards in alarm. His rapidly flicking eyes caught a movement in the trees and he froze in fear as a pair of black eyes stared down at him through the darkness. He could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. Gripping the heavy pistol in sweating hands, he struggled to take aim, when, suddenly, something large and winged dropped from the branch and slowly flapped away.

He lowered the gun and swallowed, dry mouthed, his breath coming fast and shallow as he fought to get his panic back under control.

Another movement; this time it was human, he was sure of it. Someone was making their way through the undergrowth towards him. He raised the gun again, two handed, elbows locked, just as Sheppard had taught him. Sighting along the barrel, he watched the pistol twitch uncontrollably with the trembling of his hands. He knew he should run, but his legs wouldn't move.

A bright light suddenly blazed less than five yards in front of him. He turned his head away, closing his eyes as the brightness momentarily blinded him. Terror and confusion filled his tired brain leaving the pistol forgotten in his hands.

"Drop the gun!" A man's voice called through the darkness and he turned his head back towards the light. Squinting into the glare, he could vaguely see two dark shapes walking cautiously towards him. He felt his panic rise again as he waited, paralysed with fear, for the bullet that would end his life.

"Drop, it! Now!"

As the two figures took another step forward, Rodney's eyes flicked down to the shaking gun in his hands.

Never give up.

A strange feeling of calm descended on him. Less than an hour ago, he'd been prepared to die to protect Atlantis; but now he needed to live. If Bartos made it into the city, then no one would be safe. He couldn't allow that to happen.

He looked back up. The light was coming closer but he stared, unflinchingly, into its beam. Taking a slow, steady breath, he raised Ronon's pistol another inch and aimed at the man behind the flashlight. The weight of the heavy gun seemed to fade away and it sat in his hands as steady as a rock. The figure stopped in front of him, a perfect target. Rodney smiled, and began to gently squeeze the trigger.

Without warning, a creature the size of a bear, in leather and skins, smashed through the scrub to his left. He started to turn to face it but he was far too slow. Long arms grabbed him, and he staggered sideways, fighting in vain to keep his balance. With almost contemptuous ease, the huge figure threw him to the unyielding ground, wrenching the pistol from his fingers as he fell.

He struck the ground hard; bright sparks of light exploding in front of his eyes. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he looked up; directly into the gaping maw of Ronon's gun, levelled less than two feet from his face.

Rodney froze, his eyes wide in fear. In the silence of the night, he could hear the slight whine of the pistol powering up.

"Ronon! No!" The man's voice shouted again, but the words made no sense to Rodney's terror-filled brain. All he could focus on was the gun in front of him; nothing else existed.

"_Ronon!"_ The voice yelled through the night. "Don't shoot! It's McKay!"

At the sound of his own name, Rodney's brain snapped out of its paralysis and began to process what the voice was saying.

Ronon? That was impossible. He stared upward. The gun that filled his vision had twitched at the man's words, but only for an instant. He looked past the pistol at the figure holding it. Away in the distance his assailant's face was cast in deep shadow, but even so Ronon's huge form was unmistakable.

"It's McKay." The voice repeated, quieter this time, but with a harder edge. "Ronon, lower your weapon." Sheppard's voice. Rodney recognised it now in stunned amazement. It was Sheppard who was holding the light.

"McKay?" Ronon's disbelieving growl wasn't directed at Rodney, but over his head towards the flashlight.

Sheppard didn't answer. A more gentle voice, Teyla's, spoke out instead. "Ronon. He is unarmed now. If you allow him to stand then we can all see him more clearly." There was doubt there, too, but Rodney couldn't blame her. He was finding it impossible himself to believe what his ears were telling him. Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla. Beyond all possible hope, his team had found him.

A huge hand loomed out of the darkness in front of him, and he stared at it for a moment in bafflement before realising that it was Ronon, offering to help him to his feet. Although he couldn't avoid noticing that the pistol in the big man's other hand hadn't lowered an inch.

He reached out, and a second later his arm was nearly wrenched from its socket as Ronon hauled him upright. His tired legs almost refused to take his weight, and he grabbed hold of Ronon's arm to stop himself from falling to his knees. The Satedan's solid strength steadied him and the hand that engulfed his own didn't let go; instead, it pulled him closer until he was peering directly up into Ronon's frowning face.

"McKay?" This time Ronon's suspicious question was aimed at him. "That really you?"

Rodney nodded dumbly. Before he could reply, a hand caught hold of his shoulder from behind and turned him to face the light. The grip wasn't tight, but he winced as strong fingers jabbed painfully into a still-tender bruise.

The hand let go immediately. "Rodney? How did…?" The voice paused, then continued less sharply, "Are you, uh, are you okay?" Sheppard sounded concerned, although there was still a trace of doubt there too.

Rodney found himself grinning in relief. He was back with his team; he _was_ okay.

"Colonel..." He started to answer when something struck him on the shoulder blade like a sledgehammer, throwing him violently forward into Sheppard. Arms grabbed for him, but he was falling too fast. He hit the ground hard as an ear-splitting boom from behind him set off a ringing inside his skull.

"Rodney!"

Through the pounding in his head he could vaguely hear someone yelling his name. It sounded like Sheppard. He tried to answer, but all he could manage was a rattling wheeze. A warm, sticky fluid filled his mouth and he began to choke, his breath catching painfully on the liquid in his throat.

Somewhere above his head, the staccato chatter of gunfire demanded his attention, but the burgeoning agony in his back made it difficult to care.

He sensed rather than saw a figure kneel down beside him. "Rodney, can you hear me? You must try to breathe slowly." Teyla's voice sounded calm but her hands moved quickly as her sharp knife cut away the rough fabric of his jacket. Freezing air touched his skin triggering a bubbling cough, which seared through his chest like fire. From far away Teyla spoke again, "I'm sorry, Rodney, but this will hurt." A firm hand turned him onto his side and something pressed hard against his back.

He closed his eyes to fight the pain, and it was far too much effort to open them again.

oOo

Rodney woke slowly. He was lying on his front, the left-hand side of his face nestled in a pillow and his dully aching body cushioned by a mattress. A horribly familiar hospital smell filled his nostrils, although the all-pervading tang of salt was missing from the warm air. He was in an Infirmary, but not Atlantis' Infirmary.

All that was visible to him from this prone position was an expanse of white sheets and the grey wall beyond. He listened for a moment; a quiet murmuring was coming from a few feet away; it was Sheppard's questioning voice answered by another which Rodney didn't recognise. He began to turn towards the sound. As his head left the pillow, a fierce agony exploded across his back. It felt as though someone had set fire to his shoulder with a blowtorch and he dropped his head back to the pillow with a low groan, cold sweat seeping from every pore.

"Rodney?" Teyla's soft voice came from beside the bed. A cool hand pressed lightly on his right arm and the pounding of blood in his ears calmed at the reassuring touch.

"Hey, Rodney, take it easy, buddy." This time it was Sheppard who spoke, his voice sounding tired and strained despite the warmth in his words. "You've been shot; it's not bad, but it probably feels like hell. The Doc's here to take care of you now, you're in good hands."

A shadow fell over Rodney's face as the Colonel stepped closer to his bedside, but without moving McKay couldn't see his teammate, and he wasn't ready to raise his head again just yet.

In fact, Rodney wanted nothing more than to lie still and allow the Doctor to take the pain away, but, as his head began to clear, the memories returned to hit him full force. He needed to tell Sheppard of Bartos' plans to invade Atlantis, before it was too late. At the thought, a sudden fear gripped him as he realised that it might already be too late.

"Colonel…" The word caught unexpectedly in his throat and he coughed, sending a new pain blossoming across his chest.

"Please don't attempt to talk, Dr McKay. There was some damage to your throat when you fell." A new voice that must have belonged to the Doctor spoke from behind him, and a slight plucking at the skin on the back of his right hand told Rodney that an IV drip was attached there, and the medic had taken hold of the line. "I've examined the wound on your shoulder. It's clean and should heal without any complications. I can give you something for the pain now." From the brisk manner, Rodney suspected that the man was a military doctor, which would probably mean that they were aboard the _Daedalus_. There might still be time.

"Wait," Rodney wheezed; he'd had enough painkillers in his time to know that they didn't just deaden the pain, they deadened the mind as well and he needed to keep focussed. He realised that his body was close to total exhaustion and pain was one of the few things keeping him from drifting back into unconsciousness. He raised his head again, more cautiously this time, and managed a ragged whisper. "Colonel?"

Sheppard stepped closer; hunkering down into Rodney's line of sight until he brought his eyes within inches of McKay's own, and, despite the urgency of the situation, Rodney found himself shocked into silence at the face that looked back at him.

Haggard almost beyond recognition, the Colonel's tanned face was deeply lined with more than just worry. He looked as though he hadn't slept for a month, dark shadows surrounding sunken eyes that held sorrow and an intense fatigue which his warm smile did little to dispel. Rodney knew that he wasn't good at reading people, but he didn't need to be; Sheppard had been suffering and was as near to physical collapse as McKay had ever seen him. Rodney wondered exactly what had been happening on Atlantis to cause the normally easy-going Colonel such grief.

The thought of Atlantis brought him back into the present with a jolt. He warily cleared his throat; the pain was bearable for the moment and his question was all-important, "Did you get Bartos?"

The shutters fell on Sheppard's face at the name, leaving his expression unreadable, but his eyes blazed with anger. "No, the bastard gave us the slip." His voice was tightly controlled now, holding none of its earlier warmth as he continued, "He pulled his people back to the Stargate and rigged a device to blow the DHD as soon as they'd gone through. There's no way of knowing where they've gated to."

McKay felt his heart sink at the reply; it was the answer he'd been dreading and his next word was no more than a hoarse whisper, "Atlantis." He cleared his throat again; forcing himself to speak through a tightness that wasn't purely physical. "He'll be heading for Atlantis. You've got to warn them."

"We can't." Sheppard's voice was tense and his eyes flicked up from Rodney's face, as if searching the room for someone just out of McKay's line of sight, "Subspace communications are down. We're breaking orbit now." He started to get to his feet but Rodney reached out a hand to forestall him, ignoring the agony which flared through his back at the movement.

"_Daedalus_?" It was all McKay could do to gasp out the word.

Sheppard paused, then knelt back down at his side, "Yes, Rodney, we're aboard the _Daedalus_."

"How long?"

The kneeling man frowned. "Five weeks." He sounded slightly puzzled by the question. "It's been five weeks since..."

"No." Rodney interrupted. He didn't have time for irrelevancies; he could feel himself beginning to lose his focus. They had a real problem here and he needed information if he was going to find a solution. "How long since you found me?"

"Oh...it's only been a couple of minutes, Rodney. If we break orbit now, we can be back in Atlantis in less than an hour."

"Too slow." Rodney's mind was racing now. In much less than an hour, Bartos could have carried out whatever plan he had for Atlantis and be long gone. They had to warn the City of the danger. Taking a calming breath, he struggled to control his weakening voice. "Help me up, Colonel. If I can fix the communications..." He started to shift his weight onto his elbow, biting down hard on the pain, but Sheppard's hand fell on his arm. The touch was gentle, but even so, in his current state, it was firm enough to stop McKay from sitting upright.

"No, Rodney, Hermiod can figure out the problem, you need to rest." The Colonel paused for a moment, "Anyway, Bartos can't get into Atlantis, he doesn't have an IDC. All Elizabeth has to do is raise the shield and..."

"He won't need an IDC." McKay interrupted again, "He has someone in Atlantis." There was a sharp intake of breath from the direction of Teyla at Rodney's words, and Sheppard's hand tightened on his arm in surprise. With a growing sense of frustration, Rodney continued, "Bartos can use them to get through the gate, I'm sure of that."

He dropped his face back down on to the pillow once again and forced his tired brain into action. To have come this far and still fail was not an option that he was prepared to accept. His eyes closed in an effort to think; then snapped open again. "The _Hefnd_."

The _Hefnd_?" Sheppard sounded startled. "The Asgard ship?"

"Faster than the _Daedalus_… Much faster…" Rodney tried to lift his face from the pillow, and was amazed to find that that his muscles refused to respond. He gritted his teeth, this was unacceptable; with a final push, he forced his head to rise an inch. "If I can just…"

"Damn it, McKay. Quit trying to move!" Sheppard's sudden vehemence froze him in his tracks like a slap to the face. However, the Colonel's next words, though no less intense, held a warmth which robbed the outburst of its sting. "Bartos won't get away from me again, Rodney. Now, you've done enough; we'll take it from here. Just lie still and let the Doc patch you up."

He wanted to argue, but it actually sounded like a good idea. Besides, he was pretty sure that whatever the Doctor was currently adding to his drip wasn't going to aid clear thought. A heaviness was already creeping into his limbs and the burning agonies of his shoulder and throat were dulling to throbbing aches.

He settled his face back into the soft pillow with a faint sigh and closed his eyes.

oOo

"Dr McKay is mistaken." Hermiod's clipped pronouncement rang through the F-302 bay. It had only been a few minutes since Sheppard had left the Infirmary and now he and his team, along with Caldwell, Hermiod and a handful of the _Daedalus_' engineers were standing beside the _Hefnd_ as it sat, sleek and graceful, between two of the Earth fighters. Snaking wires connected the alien ship to a host of diagnostic equipment and the eyes of the Asgard engineer flicked from one device to another as he conveyed their findings. "The _Hefnd _appears to be capable of great speed through hyperspace, considerably greater than a ship equipped with a standard hyperdrive engine such as the _Daedalus_, however the _Hefnd_'s engine is damaged."

"OK, so we use the _Hefnd_'s DHD to access the gate on the planet." Sheppard ran his hand over the skin of the Asgard vessel as he spoke. The ship really was magnificent; her smooth lines making the neighbouring F-302s seem almost like carthorses stabled next to a thoroughbred in comparison. He hoped that he might have the chance to fly her, but that was for the future. Right now, they had a much more urgent task.

"I am afraid not, Colonel," said Hermiod, his voice impassive as he looked up from a readout, "The control crystal has been removed, and, as the_ Daedalus_ does not possess dialling capability, we do not have a replacement available."

"Maybe we should carry a few spares." Caldwell remarked wryly, "This isn't the first time that one of those would have come in useful."

A nearby Engineer nodded, making a note on his PDA without looking up.

"Is it possible to repair the hyperdrive engine?" Teyla asked with a thoughtful look towards the Asgard vessel.

"No, it is too badly damaged." The small, pebble-like computer interface in Hermiod's slim fingers skimmed across the surface of an Asgard instrument, and the alien muttered softly to himself before continuing. "Any attempt to create a wormhole would result in a catastrophic overload."

Sheppard frowned at the Asgard engineer's blunt statement. McKay had seemed adamant that the alien ship was the key to their return to Atlantis. So, what had he seen that they'd missed? John's eyes ran over the _Hefnd's_ elegant lines. She was so obviously designed and built for speed, but, without a way into hyperspace, she was going nowhere. Then realisation struck him. "The _Hefnd_ doesn't need to open a wormhole into hyperspace," Sheppard turned excitedly towards Colonel Caldwell with a grin. "The _Daedalus_ can do that. All the_ Hefnd_ needs to do is to fly along it!"

Hermiod gave a slow blink, the only outward sign of his surprise, before responding. "That would not pose a problem. It is the energy required to establish a hyperspatial opening which would overtax the damaged engine. Even at full speed, flight through hyperspace would generate no such burden."

"Then what are we waiting for?" It was the first time that Ronon had spoken since they'd beamed back from the planet. The big man had been pacing the F-302 bay like a caged bear, restlessly toying with the pistol in his hand. Ronon obviously didn't like feeling useless as engineers around him worked on the Asgard ship, but now it was time for action, and the Satedan took a purposeful step towards the _Hefnd_'s open rear hatchway.

"One moment." Caldwell's authoritative voice brought Ronon up short. He turned to glare at the _Daedalus'_ commander, but, before he could speak, John cut in.

"We need to leave now, Sir. We're working against the clock, and the security of Atlantis is my responsibility." Sheppard was ready to argue his case, but the older man gave him no cause.

"I accept that, Colonel, I just want to make sure that you have considered what you'll do if this Bartos is already in Atlantis when you arrive? From your own reports of the man, a frontal assault would only result in casualties. How do you intend to enter the city without alerting him?"

"I may be able to assist you in that." Raising his head from his instruments, Hermiod looked Sheppard in the eye." The _Hefnd_'s teleport system is unlike any design that I have encountered before, and it is also lacking a control crystal. However, I believe that the crystal from the _Daedalus_' teleport would be an adequate replacement, and, in this case, the _Daedalus_ does indeed 'carry a spare'."

John stifled a grin at the Asgard's careful use of the phrase. "Great. You can fit it on the way." He raised an eyebrow to the _Daedalus_ commander in a tacit request, and Caldwell nodded, brusquely.

"If Hermiod is willing to accompany you, I think we can manage without him for a while." Caldwell waited until the Asgard engineer inclined his head in reply, before asking, "Just one last question, Colonel; can you fly an Asgard ship?"

"If it's got wings, I can fly it." Sheppard glanced at the _Hefnd_'s streamlined bodywork and added sardonically. "Even if it hasn't actually got wings."

oOo

Elizabeth Weir looked up at the sound of polite tapping on the window next to her office doorway and nodded at her visitor to enter. The man standing at the threshold looked anxious and slightly frazzled, but that seemed to have become Radek Zelenka's standard expression ever since he'd officially taken over the mantle of Chief Scientist a little under a month ago. She couldn't fault his work, or his dedication to the smooth running of Atlantis, but it was obvious that the weight of the job was not yet sitting easily on his shoulders.

"Radek, please come in." She gave the scientist a brief smile and indicated for him to take a seat opposite her as she sat at her desk, "Have you manage to re-establish contact with the _Daedalus _yet?" A communications problem had developed only minutes after Colonel Caldwell had called to advise of their arrival above the planet where the Asgard distress signal had originated. Both subspace and internal systems were down, and, apparently, finding the cause of the fault was proving to be less than easy.

Zelenka remained standing, but took a step closer to her desk. He ran thin fingers through his hair, leaving it spiked and wayward as he answered, "Ah, no…not as yet."

There was an awkward silence. After a moment, Elizabeth put down the pen that she was holding and asked, "So, what can I do for you, Radek?"

The Engineer looked puzzled. "I am sorry, Dr Weir. I was told that you wished to see me."

It was Elizabeth's turn to be confused. "No, Radek, I didn't ask for you. Who told you that?"

"I think his name is Johnson, he is one of Colonel Sheppard's marines." Zelenka glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the doorway with a frown. "That is him in the control room."

She followed his glance; the marine was talking with a female gate tech, his back to Elizabeth. "Sorry, Radek," Elizabeth gave the engineer a slightly bemused smile, "It wasn't me who wanted you."

"Maybe he was mistaken." Radek shrugged, then nodded his head in a quick apology and turned to leave the room when the air was suddenly filled with a strident wail. Leaping to her feet, Elizabeth found herself nearly halfway to the door before she was even conscious that she'd moved. She'd recognised the sound of Atlantis' alarm immediately; the city had identified some sort of emergency and, with internal communications down, she needed to be in the control room to find out exactly what it was.

"Incoming wormhole!" Chuck's startled voice was the first thing to greet her as she rushed through the doorway; the second was the sound of the heavy Gateroom doors slamming shut.

Whatever the emergency was, Atlantis had just gone into lockdown.

The control room quickly turned into a hive of frenzied activity. Technicians dashed between consoles as they attempted to discover the cause of the alarm and the air was alive with shouts over the raucous shriek. In the seemingly chaotic turmoil, Chuck spoke again, raising his voice to be heard, "I'm not receiving an IDC."

"Raise the shield." Elizabeth ordered as Zelenka hurried past her to take up his place in front of a control panel.

At that moment, someone, she couldn't tell who, finally managed to access the mainframe and the alarms fell silent. In the sudden quiet, a new voice rang through the control room.

"Leave the shield as it is!"

Elizabeth turned to stare at the man who had spoken. A young marine stood beside the Gate console, his 9mm pistol aimed squarely at Chuck. Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak but before she could, the gate activated and a dozen armed soldiers burst through.

TBC


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The sound of gunfire filled the air. Armed soldiers had come through the gate firing, meeting Atlantis' own marines head on. But the battle was brief.

The Atlanteans were heavily outnumbered and not expecting an attack, while the intruders were prepared and ruthless in their assault. As the last short burst of P-90 fire was answered by a single shot, the control room fell into a stunned silence.

Through the wide control room window, Elizabeth could see the dark-uniformed soldiers taking cover, weapons at the ready and movements practised and confident. On the Gateroom floor, four bodies sprawled, their familiar Atlantean uniforms stained with blood. Immediately in front of the gate, one of the intruders also lay unmoving. She hastily searched the room with her eyes, only then did she realise with shock that the sole marine still standing was the man at her side.

Elizabeth was more furious than frightened, her anger making her almost oblivious to the immediate danger. She glared at the armed marine beside her. He hadn't moved during the fight, standing, pistol in hand, next to Chuck at the gate control. A stocky man with short-cropped, dark hair and pale grey eyes. His name-patch read 'Johnson'. Finding her voice, Elizabeth loudly demanded, "What the _hell_ is going on?"

The marine stared silently back, his face impassive.

Elizabeth set her jaw at the man's blank expression and turned her attention back to the Gateroom below, her eyes carefully scanning the intruders. Their uniforms carried no insignia of rank, but she had no difficulty in picking out the leader. A tall, grey-haired man stood slightly apart from the others; he had made no attempt to conceal himself after stepping through the gate, and now he was surveying the Gateroom with the self-assured gaze of a predator.

Behind him the Stargate was still active, and, as Elizabeth watched, another fifteen men came through, loaded down with half a dozen large, wooden crates along with two occupied medical stretchers. The containers were being hastily stacked on the Gateroom floor but the two gurneys, watched over by an armed soldier, were being carried to the far side of the gate where they would be less disturbed.

Still dauntless in her anger, Elizabeth took a step forward.

"Stay where you are!" Johnson's barked order pulled her up short. She'd almost forgotten the marine standing beside her.

"It's all right, Johnson, let her approach." The grey-haired man called out from below as he strode unhurriedly across the Gateroom floor towards the steps.

Up in the control room, Elizabeth took a moment to think. Now that her initial anger was starting to pass, a wave of fear threatened to claim her and she pulled in a deep breath, forcing the panic back. Their position was bad, although she remembered having been in worse, and she needed to regain her composure if she was going to maintain any control over the situation.

Her eyes once more scanned the Gateroom. The tall commanding officer had reached the steps, his men fanning out behind him. From her viewpoint, Elizabeth could see that the soldiers were armed with large, cumbersome looking handguns, but the officer himself had a much smaller pistol holstered at his side.

With a final glance at Johnson, she walked up to the head of the staircase and paused there, waiting for the officer to come to her.

"Dr Weir," The man seemed unaware of her subtle manoeuvring, coming to a halt in front of her with a warm, and apparently genuine, smile on his face. "We've never met, but your reputation as a diplomat and leader goes before you."

Elizabeth stared pointedly at the fallen bodies on the Gateroom floor and spoke with barely concealed disdain. "It seems that you have me at a disadvantage."

The tall officer affected not to notice her tone, responding only to her words. "Then allow me to introduce myself," he held out a hand in greeting, "I am Commander Marek Bartos."

Elizabeth froze, her heart suddenly pounding loudly in her own ears. Even so, she didn't miss the sharp gasps and single muttered Czech curse from behind her.

"And it appears that my reputation also precedes me," A slight frown crossed Bartos' face as he slowly lowered his proffered hand. "Although, despite recent events, you shouldn't believe everything that you have heard about me."

Bartos. Even without the violent arrival, the name alone would have been enough to send a chill along the length of her spine. A cold-blooded murderer was standing less than two feet in front of her, the genial smile returning to his face. She found her jaw tensing in an effort to bite down on blistering words. An outward show of emotion right now would do nothing to help the situation, no matter how much she wanted to wipe the smile from the bastard's face with the back of her hand.

"May I ask why you have invaded my City?" Her voice was ice-cold, but she couldn't disguise her feeling of outrage.

This time Bartos' eyes flashed in anger at her question and the smile fell from his face, "Believe me, Dr Weir, coming to Atlantis was never part of my plan. Unfortunately, I find that I require the use of your Stargate." He nodded curtly to the dark-uniformed man at his shoulder, who stepped smartly forward towards the control room, as Bartos continued in a calmer voice, "If your people stay out of my way, then there is no reason for any more of them to come to harm."

As the last word left his mouth, an angry cry of, "Hey!" from behind her made Elizabeth start in alarm.

"You! Get away from that damn computer!" Johnson's shout ripped through the air and Elizabeth turned to see the reason for the marine's anger.

Dr Zelenka, his head down and his hands frantically flying over the keyboard, was hunched over a workstation. As Elizabeth watched, Johnson grabbed the scientist by his shoulder, spinning him around until they were face to face. Zelenka tried to break away, and the marine took a back-handed swipe at him, the 9mm pistol in his hand striking the scientist's forehead with an audible crack, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Radek!" Elizabeth let out a startled cry. When Bartos didn't stop her, she quickly made her way towards the control room where Chuck had already pushed past the armed marine to kneel at Zelenka's side.

Elizabeth could see that Zelenka was out cold with an ugly gash across his brow, the surrounding skin already turning purple beneath the blood that Chuck was urgently trying to staunch. The Canadian turned a worried face towards her, "He needs medical help."

She looked over to Bartos, shock at the sudden brutality momentarily robbing her of her voice, but the grey-haired man didn't spare her a glance. Stepping past her, he curtly addressed a seated technician, a young woman with olive skin and heavily lidded eyes. "Report," he demanded of the woman, "Tell me what he did."

"He's disabled the gate controls, there's no way of dialling out." The tech sounded remarkably composed, her hands moving confidently as she accessed the gate computer.

"Can you over-ride what he's done?" Bartos snapped, striding over to stand behind the woman.

With a sudden flash of understanding, Elizabeth looked from the young gate tech to Johnson. It was almost impossible to believe that two of her own people were working for Bartos, but there was no other plausible explanation.

"Damn it, Kanwal, don't help him!" Chuck's incredulous voice called across the control room from where he knelt beside Zelenka. The Canadian had obviously not yet realised that the young woman was not actually working on their side.

Even now, Elizabeth was finding that difficult to accept. "Kanwal?" She waited until the seated technician turned to face her before asking, quietly; "You do realise that you are working for a cold-blooded murderer?"

An unreadable expression crossed the woman's face for a second, then she dropped her eyes from Elizabeth's and replied to Bartos' question. "I'm sorry, Sir, but without Dr Zelenka's command code, the gate is locked up tight."

Before Bartos could respond, Dr Weir seized the initiative, "Commander Bartos," Her clear voice filled the control room, "It will only be a matter of time before my people breach the lockdown. We also have a ship on the way. You must know you'll never be able to hold the City."

Bartos turned to Elizabeth, drawing his pistol from its holster as he did so. With a jolt, Elizabeth recognised the gun. It was a standard military 9mm pistol; the gun that Bartos had taken from John; the gun he'd used to murder Rodney.

"I think that you misunderstand your position here, Dr Weir." In a fluid movement, he turned his pistol towards a young, flame-haired tech. The young man leapt to his feet, his eyes wide in terror as Bartos calmly squeezed the trigger. A shot echoed around the control room and the technician dropped instantly, falling lifeless to the ground beside Zelenka.

Re-holstering his gun, Bartos looked down into Elizabeth's shocked face. "_You_ must know that your people are expendable, and my patience is limited."

Shock turned to boiling anger in Elizabeth's chest. She understood her position perfectly; it was her job to bring this killer to justice and ensure that no more of her people suffered at his hands. Her resolve was firm; although how she would achieve this she had no idea.

Movement caught her eye. Kanwal had reached for Zelenka's keyboard and was drawing it towards herself. "Sir," The olive-skinned woman sounded nervous as she ran her hands over the keys, "If you can give me twenty minutes I should be able to write a work-around. I can't promise full gate function, but given half an hour, I can attempt to access the additional control crystal as well."

Elizabeth tried to keep the look of surprise from her face. The additional control crystal? As far as she was aware, that crystal's only function was to allow an eight-chevron lock. It was necessary if you wanted to dial out of the Pegasus Galaxy, but why would Bartos want to do that?

The tall officer pursed his lips for a moment in deliberation and then seemed to come to a decision. "You have half an hour." He nodded brusquely to Kanwal then checked a timepiece on his wrist and continued, "The _Daedalus_ will take a minimum of fifty minutes to arrive; I want to be away from here in thirty."

Thirty minutes. That was how long Elizabeth had before the murderer managed to escape justice again. Glancing around the control room, she took in the expressions on the faces of her people. Most still showed nothing but shock, a few mirrored her own feelings of determination and outrage, yet others looked close to panic. Elizabeth knew that keeping these people safe had to be her first priority. If she saw an opportunity to stop Bartos, she would seize it with both hands, but, with the _Daedalus_ nearly an hour away and Atlantis in lockdown, that would take a miracle.

oOo

John looked up from the pilot's console, a tense expression on his face. With himself, Teyla, Ronon and Hermiod in the _Hefnd_'s tiny cockpit, conditions were more than cramped. Teyla sat on the deck, her back pressed against the cockpit's bulkhead and her knees drawn up out of John's way while Ronon filled the doorway to the rear compartment. Hermiod wasn't visible at the moment, but a series of rhythmic clunks told Sheppard exactly where the Asgard was working.

Satisfied that nothing else needed his immediate attention, John turned back to the console in front of him. The _Hefnd_ was even more glorious to fly than she was to look at, but any pleasure that he may have found in piloting the Asgard vessel was dispelled by the prospect of what might be awaiting them when they reached Atlantis. Normally, when he was flying a new ship for the first time, nothing else mattered; vectors and velocities filled his mind until he became totally immersed in the awesome thrill of flight. But now, his thoughts kept turning relentlessly back to what Rodney had told them. Bartos had infiltrated Atlantis and even now could have entered the city with armed soldiers at his back. It was difficult to believe, and, if John hadn't heard it from Rodney's own lips, he doubted that he would have so easily accepted it as true.

Even more unbelievable was that Rodney himself was alive. After five weeks of grieving, it was only now sinking in that Rodney's apparent murder had simply been an act to convince them that the scientist was dead, and that searching for him would be futile. Never leave a man behind... Bartos must have known that John and his team would _never_ have rested if they had thought for one moment that McKay was still alive. A sudden shiver ran through him as he realised just how close he'd come to ending their search. He looked round at Teyla and Ronon and saw their grim expressions; it made him wonder if the same thought had crossed their minds.

A low alien muttering cut through his brooding and John glanced over towards the sound. "How are you getting on, Hermiod?" The Asgard engineer lifted his head from beneath the disassembled teleport system and gave Sheppard an unfathomable look. It hadn't been obvious back aboard the _Daedalus_, but after the grey alien removed the inspection cover, it had become apparent that it was not just the control crystal that was missing; someone had cannibalised the teleport mechanism for parts.

"I am getting on... productively, Colonel. Several key components have been removed from the teleport system, but it has been done with care. Nothing has been damaged in the process." Sheppard gave a wry smile at the Asgard's reply; Rodney had been a member of his team for long enough for John to recognise the scientist's expert handiwork when he saw it.

"Can you fix it before we get home?"

"I am currently assembling parts from other non-essential equipment, Colonel. Most of the missing components seem to have been incorporated into the hyperdrive engine's control system and it would be inadvisable for me to attempt to retrieve them while we are in flight; however, I am certain that the teleport will be operational before we arrive." John nodded and turned back to the pilot's console, but Hermiod hadn't finished speaking, "Provided you do not require the use of the teleport too often."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes without looking up; this did not sound good. If Bartos had entered Atlantis, John's team might need to move around the city without using the corridors and he'd been counting on the teleport for that. "Define 'too often'."

"I am confident of a safe transfer of your team from the _Hefnd_ to Atlantis. If that does not overload the replacement components, it may be possible to achieve a second transfer; beyond that, I would not anticipate success."

No, not good. John hunched over the low console, his mind racing. They would soon be dropping out of hyperspace and the_ Hefnd_ needed his full attention, added to that, he and his team had maybe five minutes to come up with a 'Plan B'.

Not good at all.

oOo

Elizabeth's finger tapped surreptitiously on the radio nestled in her left ear.

Still dead.

She dropped her hand back to her side with a growing sense of frustration.

It had been a little over twenty minutes since Bartos and his first dozen soldiers had emerged from the Stargate. Elizabeth had hoped to negotiate with the intruders, but all her diplomatic skills were of no avail when Bartos and his men simply ignored her, refusing to even acknowledge her attempts to draw them into a dialogue.

Searching for any option she might have missed, Elizabeth's eyes scoured her surroundings. A movement in the Gateroom drew her attention and she craned her neck to see. In the area beyond the Stargate, the occupants of the two stretchers were being checked by another one of Bartos' men. Elizabeth watched attentively as he lifted the thick brown blankets that covered them to reveal a heavyset man whose head was swathed in white bandages, and a fair-haired youth, his face deathly pale but showing no visible injuries. On the floor beside the gurneys now lay the corpses of the five Atlanteans and the single dead intruder; their bodies also covered by heavy blankets.

Radek had not been taken to the Gateroom; instead, the injured scientist had been dragged unceremoniously to the far wall where the rest of her people were now kneeling; five of Bartos' men standing guard over them, weapons at the ready.

Elizabeth was the only Atlantean still on her feet. When the others had been herded away, she had refused to kneel. She'd stared Bartos in the eye, anticipating a swift retaliation to her defiance and had been surprised to see instead an expression close to respect on the Commander's face.

But now his look had turned to one of irritation as the woman working on cracking Radek's disabling programme offered a report.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but finding a way around Dr Zelenka's programme is more difficult than I thought." Kanwal's hands moved rapidly over the keyboard as she spoke but her eyes avoided Bartos', instead remaining fixed on her computer screen. "I now have control of basic gate functions so it is possible to dial out, but I will need more time to access the additional crystal."

"Understood," Bartos' voice was calmer than his face indicated, and the young woman appeared to relax slightly, although her eyes still didn't lift from the screen. "You have ten minutes before we leave."

With a brief nod of affirmation, Kanwal seemed to focus even more intently on the computer in front of her, her hands flying as she redoubled her efforts.

Elizabeth realised that the ten minute deadline applied to her too. She had time to make one last effort to turn the tide in her favour and she looked around to see where her best chance lay. Johnson was her closest guard. Bringing all she could remember of his confidential file to mind, she started talking, directing her quiet words at the young man.

"Johnson?" He ignored her, as she'd expected, but she continued to speak in a low voice, hoping for some reaction that she could use. "It's 'Mark', isn't it?" She paused for a moment, but was still met with stony silence. "You were stationed in the SGC for five years, is that right? I know General Hammond has spoken very highly of you. I'm trying to understand why anyone would throw away such an outstanding military career and betray his own people…"

"Dr Weir," Bartos was suddenly at her side, moving as silently as a cat. His voice cut across her words, but his tone was more amused than annoyed. "Please don't waste your breath; Johnson was my man long before he was yours, and his loyalty is without question."

A flicker of pride crossed the young marine's face as Elizabeth latched on to Bartos' words with interest. From Johnson's file, she knew that this was his first assignment off world. He had arrived on the _Daedalus_ in the original wave of reinforcements when Earth finally re-established contact with Atlantis. If Bartos was telling the truth, then Johnson must have been working for him back on Earth.

She filed this piece of information away and turned her full attention to Bartos. Now that the Commander was speaking to her, she finally had a chance to negotiate

First she would see how much information he was willing to supply. "Commander." She waited until he looked her in the eye before continuing, "You must need this gate to leave the Pegasus Galaxy. Where do you intend to go?" Her tone was confident, expecting an answer, and with an easy smile Bartos responded to her question.

"I merely wish to return home, Dr Weir. I had intended to use my ship, but that proved to be impossible. Once we have left Atlantis the lockdown will end and the city will return to your control. Whether your people remain unharmed depends largely on whether they try to oppose me." Now he stared pointedly at Zelenka as the scientist lay, his head propped on a makeshift pillow, by the far wall. The ugly wound on Radek's forehead had finally stopped its sluggish bleeding, leaving the congealed blood to plaster his usually unruly hair to his skull in a dull-red mat.

Elizabeth gave the Commander a tight smile, but she wasn't fooled by his words. She'd mediated enough negotiations to know that he was lying. Whatever his real plans were, he had no intention of allowing anyone the opportunity of following him through the gate, and the most obvious way of preventing that was to leave none of them alive.

Her main aim now was to secure the safety of her people, and, with careful handling of the situation, she knew that was still possible. She was choosing her next words when, without warning, a crackling voice spoke her name. _"Elizabeth?" _Catching herself before she could react in surprise to the radio in her ear, she dropped her gaze from Bartos' face and listened intently.

"_Elizabeth, it's me, John."_ Her heart began to beat faster, but she made herself move slowly, knowing that Bartos was close enough to notice her every movement. The small radio was hidden beneath her hair and she raised her hand to her head, raking her fingers through her dark curls as if it were simply a habit. As her hand brushed past the radio, she tapped it once with her thumb, activating the microphone. Before she could work out how best to respond, Sheppard's distorted voice spoke again. _"Something's jamming your signals but Hermiod's managed to break through. Elizabeth, can you hear me?"_

Frustration mounted. She couldn't reply aloud; the control room was silent now apart from the constant tapping of Kanwal's fingers on her keyboard. Bartos would hear even the quietest of answers.

Praying that Sheppard would understand, she coughed gently.

There was a moment's silence. Finally, Sheppard's voice crackled again in her ear.

"_Okay, Elizabeth, I'm assuming you have company, but I need to know your situation. Is there any way you can tell me what's going on there?"_

Elizabeth took a calming breath before speaking. "Commander Bartos?" She looked up at the grey-haired man, but this time Bartos chose to ignore her, and it was John who spoke again.

"_Crap, McKay was right." _He seemed to be speaking to himself but Elizabeth felt her heart jolt at Rodney's name; his murderer was standing in front of her and she forced her face to show no change in expression as John's voice continued in her ear, "_Okay, Elizabeth, we're above the city now and we'll be with you soon. Can you let me know what we'll be up against?"_

This time she was ready with her reply, "Commander," She increased the emotion in her voice, allowing a little of her genuine concern through to add colour to her words. "Your soldiers have shown that they are capable of using lethal force. All I ask is that you remember that we are unarmed civilians."

"Of course, Dr Weir." Bartos inclined his head in reply, "We would all do well to remember that."

But she was listening to another voice. _"Okay, Elizabeth. We'll be with you as soon as possible. Hang on, and keep your heads down until we get there." _With that, the radio fell silent but Elizabeth was left with the feeling that maybe her much needed miracle had just arrived.

TBC


End file.
